Maybe, Baby
Posted by Andrew | Filed under Living in Korea
In all of the time I have been writing these blogs, I have tried to present Korea in as positive a light as possible, bearing in mind that I am a "foreigner" here and even now, still have so much to learn about the place and its people.
However, there is no escaping the fact that life here is not all beer and skittles. The foreigner encounters "happenings" here which make no sense and are not helpful. And there are many of them, so that it is difficult to know where to start . . .
And it's really difficult to know what to say here without being offensive to someone. Which is part of the paradox of the place: people here who really know you do not take offence at your little slights and comments but take things with humour; they know you well enough to know when you are trying to be funny rather than offensive. But as this often happens in a congenial environment with extensive exposure to various forms of alcohol, perhaps it is not surprising . . .
Korean co-workers, on the other hand, are a different barrel of sardines. What I have encountered (since transitioning to the public school environment from a hagwon) is that the relationship is strictly one-sided: your presence here is interpreted as being one of learning about the culture and language, and in fact, you may play only a minor role in the day-to-day running of the place. And these environments are often not really "congenial" at all.
Despite being an actual "native speaker" (and therefore, one would naturally expect, a prime source of information), your opinions and advice may be routinely ignored – largely, one would suspect, because the Koreans consider you to be a "stereotype", and to this stereotype you are expected to conform – illogical and unnatural though it may no doubt prove to be. Especially so as all native speakers are expected to be like the Americans and know all about everything American, whether they care for such things or not. The Koreans do not seem to understand that you can (a) be a native English speaker and (b) not actually be American, and especially (c) probably not give a monkey's toss about America. Nor do they seem to understand that the use of English in America is an accident of history, and that the language actually originated elsewhere; the Americans could equally well have ended up speaking French or Spanish. Or even that this kind of steretypical assumption is actually offensive to non-Americans. And even to Americans, too!
You are not apparently considered in any way "important", despite the incredible expense squandered on bringing you here, housing you and paying you. Disappointment is often the result of observing that you are not paying great attention to things like learning the Korean language, although the comment should be made that there is often not time for this. Your weekly schedule may not permit it! Do not be surprised by apparently unreasonable expectations – or the unreasonable reaction to the inevitable disappointment which results.
The big surprise is how poorly-defined the foreigner's actual role tends to be, and the extent to which it tends to be subject to "interpretation" by others around you. A consequence of this (or maybe the cause; it's difficult to separate things out sometimes) is that there are things which you are "assumed" to know about by virtue of the fact that you are the foreign incumbent . . . but nobody ever tells you about this, of course – after all, you know about it already . . . don't you? Oh, what? You don't know about that? But you're the foreign teacher!!! (This is often accompanied by displays of histrionic incredulity, as no-one is willing to accept the responsibility either for telling you in the first place, or for the consequences of your not knowing.)
It would not be unreasonable to ask exactly where such a supposition would come from. Perhaps it originates in one of the teachings of Confucius – that a man should be careful of what he claims to be able to do, lest someone should call him on it, and he would lose "face" (credibility) by failing – he could talk the talk, but couldn't walk it. But here we come to a good illustration of the dangers of the kinds of "assumptions" mentioned above – it is illogical and unreasonable for Korean co-workers to assume that a foreigner, newly arrived and with perhaps little or no knowledge of either teaching or Korea (but with the mandatory Undergrad. Degree), can simply walk into their first lesson and everything will be perfect, straight off the bat.
Life ain't like that, pal! I personally (as my readers know full well) have been here for over seven years as I sit at my desk writing this, but the assumption that I automatically "know" things without actually being told first continues unabated. It happened again today, when I broached the subject of our Korean-Canadian co-worker's semi-defunct (or possibly even dying) washing machine to our single available Korean co-worker (as the supervisor is off this week). Did I know the telephone number of the washing machine company? No, I said. Why would I know that? I'm a foreigner and I know nothing. Our supervisor normally sees to these things. A foreigner arriving in Korea already knowing everything would be on a par with an Immaculate Conception.
We could go further and ask what, then, is often stated to be a desirable trait in teachers, and the magic word here is "passion": the applicant must have a "passion for teaching". You see this mentioned so often in job adverts. The implication of which – to my jaundiced way of thinking – being that it doesn't matter how much teacher training you have, if you lack passion, you're a dud, and frankly, I call BS on this.
Why? Well, look at it like this. When I went back into education (as a student) after some three years in the dole queue (because the process of "conventional education" had not allowed me to leave secondary school with any realistic idea of what I wanted to do afterwards), Roger, the career adviser at Charles Keene College in my hometown of Leicester, said that he thought I had two basic choices: teaching or sales. The two, he said, were very similar, although to be blunt, neither really appealed to me, at least not at that time.
But the comparison is deserved and appropriate. Read about sales staff and you discover that those who consider themselves to be "professionals" are constantly clamouring for more training. Which is to say that they may be born with some natural ability to charm people into parting with their money in exchange for some product, but they quickly realise that natural ability – or "passion", as we have called it here – is clearly not enough. They recognise that times change, and sales (or teaching) techniques must alter accordingly. The salesman (or saleswoman) "sells" a product (but they would probably tell you that "a good product sells itself." Ha!); the teacher "sells" ideas and concepts to help learners form an appropriate "schema" in their minds. And the sales person who relies purely upon "innate sales passion" rather than what we might call "continuous development" will probably never graduate from the local market place or used car lot.
So it is probably correspondingly inappropriate to assert that innate ability is the mark of a great teacher; they also have to be trained. And this is the great failing of EPIK: the training is not up to par for the allotted purpose. It is too short, not specific enough and in fact (based on my own experience) makes no mention whatsoever of the materials to be used. If I wanted to have a comparison with the opposite end of the scale (and in the private environment), I would have to mention Berlitz, who seem to have a very good reputation. But then, they would have: before being allowed into the classroom, the new teacher at Berlitz must complete a four-week course satisfactorily (unless this has changed since my interview with Gerry the recruiter there back in 2002).
There seems also to be great antipathy in the actual workplace towards formalising things by committing them to paper – other than, obviously, the contract itself. In previous (and, I should say, professional) roles in industry, it was normal for new recruits to be given some kind of "manual" outlining their position in the heirarchy of the organisation, what they were expected to do and when they were expected to do it, as well as who to report to, and why – especially when I was working for the Ministry of Defence, where there was a set reporting style in which the neophyte had to be trained, and where everything they wrote was considered a legal document. Nothing of this kind has ever reared its ugly but useful head in all the time that I have been here. This antipathy even extends to simple things like Post-It notes left on your desk (or computer monitor) to ensure that you Get The Message. They just do not want to talk to you. Or write to you, it would seem.
Now, this doesn't mean literally that there are no printed instructions or suggestions – particularly in the EPIK manuals, which are issued to employees as part of their training. But no realistic account is taken of the fact that for the youngest neophytes in particular, both experience and training may be nonexistent or minimal, and the sad fact is that EPIK has to cover all levels of training (i.e. for elementary, middle and high schools) concurrently during its rather fraught five-day sessions; they are not able (presumably for temporal as well as purely financial reasons) to separate them out for a more intense and targeted treatment. Further, much of the materials in the books appears to be just opinions from former or current GETs (Guest English Teachers), which is another way of saying: "A written whining session" at public (i.e. EPIK's) expense . . .
The one thing I have desired most of all, in all the time I have been here, was a proper "orientation" session; and when the thing finally materialised, it turned out to be of very little use at all. There is a diabolical and contempible fetish towards playing games, purportedly to keep the students' affective filter as low as possible, but one cannot help thinking that, in just the same way as training students for passing exams throughout their schooling leaves them unable to do very much except . . . passing exams, so this fascination with playing games will leave them with no great abilities for anything except . . . playing games. But then, many are the times when I had asked hagwon students what they wanted to be, and they would say: "I want to be a pro gamer . . ."
So we have a bizarre scene, clearly often repeated across sessions, where a foreigner who has been here for a longer time than others enjoys his or her time with the neophytes showing them a succession of games which – while not actually bad in themselves – often prove impractical in a real classroom situation, where space may be cramped and movement between desks, for example, may be difficult. Or even dangerous! Some school premises, after all, can be quite old. And splintery.
This fetish for games is a complete killer of lessons. The point of education is for the teacher to teach and the student to learn, not for the teacher to pander to a group of social and intellectual inferiors whose parents indulge them so overly that they cannot sit still and study for any appreciable length of time, and do not tolerate any kind of punishment or discipline; and as I learned time and time again whilst working at the hagwon, dedicated students want to learn and are highly motivated; the remainder are simply time-wasters foisted upon you by parents who want them out of the way in a safe enough place.
For this was the real lesson of the hagwons: money is a great winnower of desires. Students who are genuinely motivated and really want to learn will do so (and they or their parents are willing to pay for it), and show you tons of appreciation for what you do for them – however chronic a teacher you (or perhaps your work colleagues) consider yourself to be. A good, motivated student will always work out how to get relevant information even from the worst foreign teacher. They love you and do not want to forget you. You are a very special person in their lives and they are happy to make this fact abundantly clear to you. Frequently.
You are not "taken for granted" to the extent that you are in the public school system. We should perhaps add that if you are like myself and are prepared to remain in that position year after year, you are regarded as a reliable person, and the students know you and are not uncomfortable with you – well, in most cases at least. The private academies cost money and some students are grateful for the opportunity to learn writing and conversation with a foreigner. They learn that things of value cost money, or conversely, that things are often free because their worth is negligible. And you and your time are worth their (or their parents') money. Don't ever forget this!
But it has to be said in the same breath that a huge expenditure is lavished each year upon private "language academies" with the intention that children should be able to speak a bit more than just Korean, and the result is . . . somewhat less than perfect. As I have said so many times before, you can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear. Plus, of course, this is a great drain on the domestic economy, as concerned mothers disregard their spouse's earnings limits and insist that if Mrs. Lim's little Hwaryoung can go to five hagwons a week, then her own little Sumi can go to six. The government noticed this and tried to introduce measures to stop the proliferation of hagwons, although apparently with very limited success.
The contemptible "game fetish" also extends back to the student's household. As part of my regular duties at the hagwon, I was required to call so many students each evening and assess their linguistic abilities. These are generally poor because most of the kids are not really interested in learning English, despite the obvious advantage of so doing in what is increasingly a bilingual and internationalised environment. I would call them, and ask (for example): "What are you doing now?" and the stereotypical boy student's answer would be (with a "duhhhh . . ." kind of voice: "I play computer game." Boys in particular are indulged too much here. Probably the parents don't know what Junior is up to, but given the fact that many family apartments here are rather small by Western standards, this seems unlikely . . .
Accommodation for foreigners is also, as I have adumbrated in previous chumblings, often not quite up to the task. I never cease to be amazed that no-one here realises that maybe – just maybe, baby – a foreigner's residence here is also (to a greater or lesser extent) also a place of work. If you talk to any of the engineers here, for example, you will find that they are often busy after hours completing documents of one type or another, and reporting back to their companies about the progress of the day. They often have to do all of this in their hotel rooms, which of course need to be large enough for this and for whatever else they want to do out of hours.
But foreigners here for teaching often have quite small places and a distinct lack of useful furniture which – if you think about it – probably stems from the expectation that the new incumbent will be precisely that – completely new around here – with few possessions and not needing very much by way of furnishings, as they are probably expected to eat out most days and just sleep there, pretty much.
In my case, however, having been here already for almost seven years, I had two large clothes bags (the ones with wheels, you know the sort of thing), a large desk, two computers with a very large new Epson printer, a plastic chest of drawers, two sets of shelves and a ton of books and other things which really need more shelving. The notion that the person they were recruiting had been here for a long time already and maybe – just maybe, baby! – therefore had a lot of possessions which needed to be put somewhere, was not something which seemed to occur to anyone.
This may turn out to be the critical factor which determines whether I stay here longer or leave – moving to Yangsan turned out to be my most expensive move ever (even including in the UK!), what with having to get everything shifted from Gwangju into storage in Gimhae, a trip across the waters to Fukuoka, then getting it all up to Yangsan, and the cost of hotel accommodation in Seoul and Busan along the way. Now, the cost of purchasing suitable shelving and other stuff is far from prohibitive, as they sell a lot of cheap Chinese furniture online here which can then be delivered to your door, but contracts here are for one year, after which you may find yourself doing the whole thing over again, only more expensive this time because there is more to shift and store (and with the ever-present risk of damage to property in transit), because they decide not to keep you on. Would it be easy for me to save any substantial amount of money having to plan for that? Decide for yourselves the answer to this question. It is more than possible that at the end of this contract year, there will be no job at all, because I will be almost 49 years old.
I can't forget, in all of this, that my first two places in Changwon both had storage rooms above the bathroom, which was great because it liberated a huge amount of space "downstairs" for other things. But neither the apartment in Miryang nor the one I have now in Yangsan had this, and the result is that things are still in boxes, two months after arrival; the place in Gwangju also lacked sufficient furniture, but at least had the saving grace of a back porch where things could be stashed safely out of the way until required.
One other big difference between the private (hagwon/academy) and public sectors which should be noted is strictness. Now, I have no problem with staying in the school when there is work to do, and you would certainly think that the school is the correct (and optimised for the purpose) place in which to do it. Again, this is often not the case. Public school vice principals seem to think that the GET should always be at their desks, irrespective of whether there is any actual work to be done; the impracticality of this in a situation like I have right now, where transit between most places has to be achieved mainly on foot and individual places are just sufficiently distant from one another to be really irritating (and, I could add, as this is a mountainous country area, really exposed to the elements), makes "critical" things like banking even more so. In fact, the nearest branch of the Nonghyup Bank which could undertake international credit transfers back to Blighty turned out to be far enough away to need a taxi.
Likewise, I have so far been unable to reach the nearest Post Office – the only one this side of the mountains – because it is so far away – further away, in fact, than the nearest 57 bus stop which would allow me to ride around said mountains. All very difficult and unhelpful because – unlike the situation in the hagwon – they are often unwilling to let me out to do essential things. Neophyte, be warned!
Accommodation in your own office may be relatively cramped, especially in the private sector, although not exclusively so, and one consistent theme therein has been an unwillingness to invest in new technology (not to mention new furniture). In two of the last three workplaces here, I have been supplied with a six-year-old computer. Yes, you did read that correctly: the computers have been six years old. They run XP creakily and slowly, are often riddled with malware and attempts by Yours Truly to rectify the situation (which are often actually free, and including actual UPDATES for the system!!!!!!!!) are met with scorn. And even when the original at Miryang was replaced, the "new" one was still at least three years old – recycled from the Computer Room . . . though it was still an improvement, of course . . .
At home, on the other hand, I have two systems – one of which I built myself, and rebuilt last year when the motherboard died after five years of sterling service (pretty damn good – the warranty was only for three!!!). I run two operating systems (XP Home/Pro and Mandriva Powerpack) and can do all sorts of things school-related, but I have to say that this seems not to be appreciated here – nor was it in the two previous places. But my old hagwon boss did appreciate it, and was very helpful, assisting me in obtaining computer-related doodads that I thought I needed. The boss's plastic, when wielded with care, can be a wonderful thing, believe me.
This brings me to a final comment upon how the GET is viewed here. Korean coworkers have, in my presence, expressed amazement that I am actually willing to do any work; it seems that the average foreigner is considered lazy, although if you have been here any length of time, you come to realise that there are an awful lot of dysfunctional (and, back home, probably unemployable) people out here doing this job, flying by the seats of their pants between each salary payment – which they then go out and, er, enjoy . . .
Now I have always sought to improve myself and become more "professional", but this is a notion which is undermined here. It is not apparently "expected" of the journeyman foreigner, who may often only be here for a year in any case. But again, time is the problem. I started a very difficult teaching course some years ago – one which actually leads to professional qualification with the College of Teachers in London – but progressively had less and less time to devote to it – and it needed a lot of time – so I am still stuck half way through it with little hope of resuming. And it was expensive, too.
Similarly, I think the Koreans forget that the GET is also a human being with emotions sometimes – and that because they originate in a different continent and culture, it may be very difficult for them to understand the GET's internal emotional landscape; that Koreans are not the only ones who have delicate "kibuns".
A GET, irrespective of where he or she originates, is subject to a huge range of unfamiliar and often disquieting influences and observations when living abroad for an extended length of time, and some consideration of this must be borne in mind when Koreans approach them. It is sometimes difficult for the GET to judge how to react to a (for them) strange situation – again, they cannot reasonably be expected to simply "know everything" ab initio – they have to learn/be told first. And of course, straightforward homesickness should be considered neither unrealistic nor unnatural in the foreigner. Perhaps if the Korean teachers had been forced to stay away from home, in another country on the other side of the world, for an extended period, they would have a better understanding of how it feels!
If Koreans think that their allotted resident foreigner is not reacting appropriately, they should be asking why this is the case, and above all, try to understand that – notionally, at least – the desired product of the Western education system is to produce people who are first and foremost self-reliant individuals who are expected to defend their principles and opinions, often in the face of resistance from others who cannot or will not agree with them; "gladiatorial", so to speak, in defence of their own viewpoints.
In the West, diversity of opinion is valued because more often than not, someone will chance upon the germ of an excellent idea which turns out to be useful for many others in the future. Conformity and harmony are sacrificed to a greater or lesser extent to the notion of "progress", and there are still many employers who seek "sparky" graduates who can constantly produce new ideas. The foreigner will therefore resist or reject any idea which he/she considers impractical or inappropriate, leading to (probably) unnecessary disagreement about how a particular plan (or feature thereof) should be implemented. This is a situation which is entirely avoidable provided that discussions are undertaken a sufficiently ample time beforehand. But such an ideal situation is seldom encountered.
All of the foregoing begs the question: if GETs are not expected to do a professional job – and are not supported in their attempts to improve themselves, including learning the Korean language, and insufficient consideration of their psychological landscape is taken into account – how can anyone be surprised if the results are not as good as required? Does no-one on the Korean side of this relationship ever stop for a moment to reflect upon the fact that the government and provinces are spending huge amounts of money each year on a situation which must surely lead to a correspondingly huge amount of demotivation and disillusionment on the part of their foreign employees? Or does no-one really care? Is the whole thing really just an expensive junket? Or does it have a real, practical purpose? Where, in all of this, is the notion of "value for money" for the Korean nation? Is anyone serious about all of this? Really?
Anyway, this blog was written with the express purpose of warning potential native speakers of some of the pitfalls of working here in Korea – and I have spent too much time getting around to writing it, for which I apologise to my readership (yes, I know there are some of you out there). It has not been an attempt to disparage the situation or the people involved, but rather to focus attention upon problematic issues and, hopefully, to lead to some kind of improvement.
Because I'm a good guy really. Honest. ^_^
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Tags: education, elementary, English, foreign teacher, foreigner, hagwon, job, Korea, Korea school, Korean, lifestyle, living, native English speaker, teacher, teaching, travel
