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On College-Entrance Exam Day, All of South Korea Is Put to the Test

Noisy Flights Can't Land;
Offices Open Late To Avoid Traffic; Mothers
Pray a Lot

By SungHa Park

SEOUL -- One foggy morning last November,
officer Kang Jin-jin heard the distress call on
his police radio: An 18-year-old girl about to
take the national college-entrance exam had
left her admission ticket at home.

Mr. Kang dashed off to the girl's apartment,
got the ticket from her father, and raced
across town on his motorcycle, arriving at the
school just in time for the test.

"I had to ignore traffic signs and turn on the
siren," he said. "It was a bit risky, but I
tried my best."

Mr. Kang's heroic effort is hardly an isolated
one. On the day each November that high-school
seniors take the college-entrance test -- Nov.
13, this year -- South Korea is a changed
country.

Many offices and the stock market open at 10
a.m., an hour later than usual, to keep the
roads free for students on their way to the
test. All other students get the day off to
keep schools quiet for the test takers. And
while students are taking the listening
portions of the tests, planes can't land or
take off at the nation's airports. Aircraft
arriving from other countries are ordered to
circle at altitudes above 10,000 feet.

Indeed, the college-entrance exam is a national
obsession. More than 80% of South Korea's high-
school seniors go on to college, and the test
heavily influences which institution of higher
learning they will be able to attend and --
after that -- their career track to jobs with
big companies and the government.

Thursday, about 590,000 students will take the
nine-hour test, which consists mostly of
multiple-choice questions. Around 6 p.m., when
the test is over, evening newspapers publish
the questions and answers. Students who fare
poorly can try again next year.

Businesses have sprung up to advise parents on
how to help children prepare for the big day.
Newspapers and TV shows broadcast tips on study
habits and foods that supposedly increase
concentration and boost memory. Some popular
dietary habits are based more on superstition
than nutrition. For instance: Avoid slimy
seaweed soup. It may let success slip away.

In September, a Buddhist temple here in Seoul
held a four-part seminar for parents of test
takers, including a session by a priest who
offered tips on concentration. Some temples --
and Christian churches -- invited parents to
daily prayer sessions beginning in August, 100
days before the test. Parents who participate
buy a special prayer book on which they glue a
photo of their young scholar.

If all this sounds excessive, some college and
government officials agree that it is. This
year, the government gave money to 40
universities to hire admissions officers whose
role more closely resembles those in Western
countries, where standardized test scores are
just one of many considerations in college-
admissions decisions. "I think focusing too
much on the one-day test should be changed,"
says Yu Myung-cheol, vice president for
admissions at Kyungpook National University in
Daegu.

But the introduction of the admissions
officers, essays and other criteria to the
college-entrance process brings subjectivity to
a system that many Koreans consider objective
and fair. South Korea strives to maintain
equality throughout the educational system.
Admission to private elementary schools, for
instance, is determined by lottery.

"To many South Koreans, the admission tests are
something that should always remain fair
because education is the last fortress through
which everyone, regardless of their current
status, can ascend to a higher social status,"
said Choi Set-byol, a sociology professor at
Ewha Womans University.

Indeed, South Korea's Education Ministry goes
to extraordinary lengths to keep the national
entrance test fair. Every year, it chooses
about 400 teachers and professors to prepare
and review questions, and it sequesters them
all for weeks in a resort surrounded by police.
Cellphones and Internet contact aren't allowed.
What phone calls that are allowed are
monitored. The brain trust can't leave until
after the test is finished.

With the test preparers' sacrifice held out as
an example, other South Koreans are quick to do
their part to make sure the test goes smoothly.

Korea Electric Power Corp., the national
utility, places about 4,000 crew members on
standby for power emergencies. It checks every
power line that goes to the roughly 1,000 test
centers, and it dispatches at least one
engineer to monitor each of these lines that
day.

"We've got to do it because the people expect
us to," says Yim Joo-hyuck, chief of the
utility's distribution administration
department. "It would be embarrassing if
students blame us for failing their tests with
power shortage."

As exam day nears, nervous students say they
are concentrating on just getting it over with.
Kim Nam-mee, a high-school student in southern
Seoul, spends her waking hours studying but is
also making an effort to get seven hours of
sleep. "What I need right now isn't so much
studying but to maintain my best condition,"
says Ms. Kim. "I just think I should do my best
at this test and get admitted," she adds. Ms.
Kim's mother, meanwhile, shuttles her from home
to cram-school, wears headphones when she
watches TV so as to cut down on the noise, and
prays at a Catholic church.

Other parents go even further. On a recent
chilly Saturday evening, Kim Nam-seon joined
more than 1,000 parents in an airy southern
Seoul temple for an intense overnight praying
session. Her mission was to bow 3,000 times,
kneeling down with her forehead touching a red
cushion on the ground to bring luck to her son,
who attends a technical high school.

"I feel a little pain in my right knee now, but
I think I'll finish it," said Ms. Kim, taking a
break after the first 1,500 bows.

A few hours later, Ms. Kim emerged from her
prayer session, her face covered with sweat
from all the kneeling and bowing. "Personally,
I don't think going to college is the ultimate
goal of one's life," she said. "But it's hard
to change social perceptions."

Write to SungHa Park at sungha.park@wsj.com

— SungHa Park
Wall Street Journal
2008-11-12


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