The Blue House, Korean Age - what next?

Calendars for the year 2023 at a store in Seoul, in this Aug. 23 file photo. Newsis

By Scott Shepherd

I've never really been able to wrap my head around the Korean age system, although I can understand it in principle, I just can't figure out what it means when someone tells me that a person is 10 or 20 or 30 in Korean age. I find myself unable to picture a Korean-age 10-year-old in the same way that I can instantly imagine an international-age 10-year-old. In response to the common ― and vital ― question of my age, I have long since taken to supplying my birth year and letting my interlocutor figure it out for both of us. In fact, since moving to Korea, I've lost track of how old I am by any counting method.

Coming to my rescue as they always do, the Korean National Assembly passed a bill earlier this month to end the Korean age system and bring the country's aging system in line with the rest of the world. It is the fulfilment of another of Yoon's election pledges, following his relocation of presidential office and residence from the Blue House or Cheong Wa Dae to Yongsan District when he took office.

Both of these changes seemed impossible even a few years ago. The Korean age system in particular seemed to be an established part of the national culture; that's just the way it's done here, like bowing to each other as a greeting or taking off your shoes when you enter a house.

Although these changes were announced in advance, they still felt surprising because they altered things that I took for granted. In light of this month's vote to abolish the age system, I've been thinking about other aspects of Korean society that seem unassailable but may be more open to change than I realize.

So I would like to offer my own suggestions for what else Yoon could change. In keeping with the festive mood, I have three ― like the presents for baby Jesus or the spirits who visit Scrooge. All three ideas seem unlikely or impossible to implement, but I do believe that they would be good for the country in the long term. Korea has shown a remarkable propensity to rapid adaptation, and as the new year approaches, it seems an appropriate time to present unconventional, aspirational suggestions for the future.

1. Get rid of Korea's age-based hierarchy

The sense of hierarchy is so engrained into Korean culture that it is impossible to escape: it is embedded linguistically in every conversation and every relationship. Of course, a society that respects its elders is not something with which to tamper thoughtlessly. There are clear positives to treating older people with respect and care. But elders in Korea expect ― and receive ― an unhealthy degree of respect, leading to a wide gap between them and the younger generations.

Not only is the situation unhealthy, it doesn't seem fair. Respect should be earned, not granted merely on the basis of age. Or rather, we should all show a basic level of respect to each other, no matter who was born first. This is the issue: not that young people should disrespect their elders, but that those elders should not disrespect those they see as their juniors.

I cannot think of a policy that can be implemented to force this change to occur. I can't even imagine what cultural and linguistic shifts would need to occur for this to become a reality. Even if the government were to announce an end to the honorifics system in the Korean language, there would be no way other than brute tyranny to enforce it. This is a change that has to come from the bottom up. But it's Christmas, and we can dream.

2. Spread the population out

Korea's capital and the area around it is one huge megapolis, one of the largest and most densely populated urban agglomerations on the planet. Having everything crammed so close together does have certain economic benefits, but the dangers of living in such an overcrowded city were brought into tragic relief in Itaewon only a few months ago.

In addition to the more obvious problems of overcrowding, it's abundantly clear that humans need trees, space, clean air, community. It's hard to get any of these things in such a huge city. We all live in grey cells separated by thin walls and strict social etiquette. This physical and psychological squeeze only exacerbates the country's sense of desperate competition, and the necessity to work all hours that grips so many.

Furthermore, it is hardly the best idea to squeeze over half of your population into a compacted area only a short drive (or missile-shot) away from a mortal enemy who has invaded within living memory ― and with whom you are still technically at war.

If my first suggestion was a little impractical, my second is eminently feasible. The government could offer tax incentives for companies and individuals relocating away from Seoul. Indeed, Yoon himself could move again ― this time, instead of relocating 3 miles down the road, he could move much further, setting up the presidency and the National Assembly in a completely different city ― in Busan or Daegu or indeed in Sejong where many other government offices have already relocated. Any move involving governmental offices should be planned and executed properly, of course; the relocation of the presidential office to Yongsan District at the beginning of the year is not a shining example to follow.

The benefits of a more widely dispersed population are many. Homes would be more affordable, which could impact the birthrate positively as families find themselves in less debt. The quality of life would improve and social cohesion would increase. This kind of big change is the sort of policy Yoon or his successor needs to implement to combat Korea's demographic crisis.

3. Abolish the "suneung"

My third suggestion is something about which I feel very strongly. There is an annual tradition of complaining about Korea's university entry exam, called "suneung" in Korean, decrying it as an unhelpful, unnecessarily high-pressured exam. Last year I joined in, writing about the need to reform it. Since I wrote that column, I have realized my mistake: the suneung should not be reformed, it should be replaced.

The exam's complex multiple-choice questions in a limited time favor only one kind of learner. There is no space for originality, no space for creativity or imagination. The exam only tests students' ability to hone certain skills ― frantic skim reading for example. It inherently disadvantages people who ponder, who think slowly and deeply. This exam, and the educational ecosystem surrounding it, have a tendency to churn out batches of unoriginal thinkers, hagwon zombies who have spent their youth discouraged from originality, discouraged from playing, discouraged from thinking. The suneung pretends that the world is black and white, pretends that there is a single correct answer to every question and that everything else is wrong.

There are pros and cons to every exam system. When it comes to the suneung, the cons massively outweigh the pros. True, it is easy to mark. And it eliminates the messy complication of having humans ― with all their fallibilities and weaknesses ― make decisions. But life is complicated, and it's messy and difficult and requires abstract thinking: a trait in which the suneung places no value.

Obviously abolishing the suneung would take time: today's teenagers have already spent years preparing for the test, not to mention millions of won in private education fees. But starting in five years or so, the government could phase in a completely different testing system, one which puts less pressure on a single all-important day and instead spreads out exams over a series of weeks and, crucially, asks the students to do something other than frantically fill in little rectangles.

On reflection, all three of my suggestions impact the young more than other groups. Thanks to the law ending Korean age, we're all growing a little bit younger next year, so there's no better time to start treating younger people with more respect. We need more space. And we should let young people sit around and daydream. We should let them play games and waste time and talk with their friends and argue and make up and do the things children should do. With four years left in office, President Yoon still has plenty to do.

Dr. Scott Shepherd (scottshepherd@chongshin.ac.kr) is a British-American academic. He has taught in universities in the U.K. and Korea, and is currently an assistant professor of English at Chongshin University in Seoul. The views expressed in the article are the author's own and do not reflect the editorial direction of The Korea Times.