Sometimes
it’s really difficult not to think of Koreans as children.
Even
though my students seem so young. It
would be better if I could blame it on the make-up the girls wear or the boyish
style popular for men right now. Surely that plays a part—that and their
healthy diet of kimchi making their skin positively glow with youthfulness.
I
wish I were judging on appearances because it’s easy to know how wrong that is. Instead I often judge on social norms:
Girls
scream in the hallways, giggle in the classroom, shuffle around cute boys like
they’ve never yet conceived the idea of talking
to them like human beings instead of shrieking at or hitting them as a form of
flirtation. Boys whine and skulk and rarely make friends with girls.
No
one has a car; most still live with their parents. Students seem to have no
long-range processing abilities, taking very little initiative in their
education or future. They can’t problem-solve and only a very few understand
why that might be useful. Students tend to have a flat, naïve view of alcohol
and smoking and their views on politics are usually centered on what everyone
else thinks. Everyone is scared to raise their hand, think for themselves, or
act alone. Pimples are the devil.
In
short, Korea is horribly reminiscent of American middle school. Koreans bear a
harsh resemblance to the hesitant, wariness I remember marked the lives of my
classmates and I ten years ago.
I
have to fight not to treat my students like the age they act. I can’t
condescend, because their actions—the giggling, the interdependence, the lack
of originality—are not indicators of immaturity. Maturity is a completely
different matter here than in the states. Individual responsibility and ingenuity
are not prized—why would my students try to attain Western ideals when their
culture breathes their antithesis? Duty is important here, not creativity.
Respect not pride. Concentration, not passion.
MoonSung,
my tutee, said a middle school student recently asked her why he should study.
“What
did you say?” I asked her.
“I
said—” she pointed her finger imperiously. “You just do it. We say when you get
to college, your agony will be ended.”
I
did my best not to look horrified, but in my head I was doing a small
tarantella of concern. Just do it? Mindlessly? Hopelessly? Without passion or
enjoyment? With nothing but the intangible promise that someday the agony will
be over—but, unless you are incredibly successful—a new agony, one of guilt and
shame and disappointed dreams and, finally, resignation to a lower-level life,
will begin? I see the shame that weighs around my students’ shoulders when they
all explain why they entered Kosin University. “I messed up,” they say. “My
tests were not good. I played too much when I was younger.” In short: “I
enjoyed life too much, coveted freedom and did not do my duty.” These are the
regrets of kids in their early twenties!
I’ve
heard that this is the crux of all differences between Western and Eastern
education. Westerners want students to start with passion—a love for their
subject that will fuel them to perform well. Passion, we believe, will instill
in us a blindness to hard work so much so that we don’t even notice the hours,
days, and years of difficulty because to us, it isn’t a chore, but a blissful
labor of love.
In
the East, it’s flipped. Just do it, they say, and the passion will follow.
Tiger Moms are mothers who force their children to study, practice, perfect a
million different skills and subjects in order to drive their offspring to
future glory. The world is terrified of Tiger Moms (many of whom are Asian)
partly because they’re insane, but partly because they get shit done without any of that “enjoy your life” nonsense.
Do
it, they tell their children. You don’t like it now—it’s hell to work hard
while your friends aren’t—but when you’re older and you can speak three
languages, play Gershwin and Tchaikovsky like a piano pro, and enter the top
university in the country, you’ll love it. Tiger Moms are the hard-core image
of all that Eastern education encourages.
Where
Westerners say “Find your passion,” the Easterners declare, “Passion follows
practice.” In the West we say, “When you’ve matured, we’ll listen to you,”
and the Easterners laugh. “If you are younger, you will never be listened to.”
In
the West we have millions of kids who, since their only passion is playing
video games and even that isn’t much more than lack of apathy, don’t pursue
anything at all. Or maybe they pursue something for a year or two, but when the
passion fades, they divorce him or quit that or simply shrug and “follow their
heart” for the next however long until their heart changes once again and they
look around years later with nothing that lasts. On the other hand, the people
that do find their passion, excel and become innovators, hard workers, and
happy, functioning members of society.
In
the East, millions of kids pursue exactly what their parents tell them to
pursue, and after the rigors of high school and middle school, their childhood
lost, they have also lost the ability to think for themselves and enjoy the
interests they may have once had. Some commit suicide, but most resign
themselves to lives of “quiet desperation” in which they could never identify
the bitter longing for something they’ve never had. On the other hand, those
that achieved everything their parents hoped they would attain honor and
happiness and become rich and powerful functioning members of society.
Which
is better? Or worse? Can they be melded together? How is it that I see the
benefits of both, but despise the idea of the one I didn’t grow up with? How
can my cultural inclinations be plasticized that I might truly seek after
something great rather than something ingrained?
I
find it almost impossible to see the benefits of what appears to be immaturity until
I look at the Bible. Jesus says, “Truly I tell you, unless you change and
become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.” (Matt
18:3)
There
are many aspects of Christianity I like to wrinkle my nose at—tradition, submission,
and humility for instance—but I like this mandate perhaps least of all. God
tells us to have faith like a child, to see the world simply. He asks us to
believe in him, to know the world is beautiful and that we are safe and loved
and that, ultimately, someone else is in charge and that is actually where our
joy and the beauty of this world come from.
There
are some things about Koreans that I love, but their ability to believe in
authority and to unquestioningly carry the torch of traditional thought like
children accepting everything their elders say is most definitely not one of
them.
In Helplessness
Blues, a song by one of my new favorite bands Fleet
Foxes, it says, “I was raised up believing I was somehow unique. Like a
snowflake distinct among snowflakes, unique in each way you can see.” I’m
special and my individual thoughts and criticisms are important; they are what
make me worthwhile, someone to listen to, a mature adult.
But
maybe the Bible agrees more with the Korean way of humbly accepting the wisdom
of those older, putting their heads down and doing as God has designed. “I was raised
up believing,” Helplessness Blues says,
“that I was somehow unique. Like a snowflake distinct among snowflakes, unique
in each way you can see. And now after some thinking I’d say I’d rather be a
functioning cog in some great machinery serving something beyond me.”
I
think that’s what I’m supposed to want, but I’m not Korean and maybe—just like
when I can’t speak the language or when I have to get my visa renewed or fight
for my pension—that holds me back. It would be better, perhaps, if I reverted
in some ways back to my middle school self, or even earlier. It would be better
if I didn’t believe I was quite so important to the world. After all:
All
people are like grass and
All
their glory is like the flowers in the field.
The
grass withers and the flowers fall because
The
breath of the Lord blows on them.
Surely
all people are like grass.
The
grass withers and the flowers fall
But
the word of our God stands forever.” (Isaiah 40)
So
where does that leave me? If Eastern culture is right in this instance (an if nearly impossible for me to accept),
surely Western culture has some major facet going for it. Right?
Still
I like my culture better. Sorry Asia, but America does a lot of things better. (Dessert, for instance. Also, driving. And
feminism.) I like questioning authority, arguing, criticizing, analyzing. They
are my strengths and they are so useful in today’s world of scientific
improvement where logic wins at all costs. But in the moral sphere, in the type
of growth that God calls us toward, I can’t really think of any inherent superiority
the West has over the East. Discernment? Crafty as serpents? Anyone have any
ideas?
