Living in South Korea as a Young Woman: Gender Sensitivity among Professors
At a reading group. I decided to go to grad school this year. ⓒRi Oe    
Beginning university in South Korea in 2016
 
Deciding to go to grad school was no great thing. I didn't want to get a job yet, and the idea of being able to hide behind the words "I'm a student" for two more years was strangely appealing. I wanted to see if I was the right type to become a scholar(!), and whether I could spend even more time with my butt glued to a chair, as everyone said that a grad school student must. I decided to apply for grad school at the same university where I had finished undergrad, because if my grades were above a certain level, they would pay for my first year's tuition.
 
I had heard many times from friends and senior students that undergrad and grad school are totally different things. They said that more than anything, the relationship with your professors is closer, that it's so close that the line between school and your private lives blur, that anyone can become someone's "Dobby" (the house elf in Harry Potter who was like a slave), and that you'll often become tired because of all of the effort you have to put into keeping everyone happy.
 
As it was the same university and even same department as undergrad, the professors who interviewed me were all people whose faces I knew and who recognized me, and I expected that they would ask me simple questions. But still, I put a fair amount of effort into preparing. Though I was mostly realistic (I didn't want to get a job, and I needed a place to belong), I did have an expectation of something like academic exploration, grandiose as that might sound. Wouldn't anyone?
 
At the interview - 5 minutes that seemed like a lifetime
 
As expected, I passed the document stage. As long as there's no separate exam, most acceptances hinge on the interview, no matter whether the university and major are popular. I had heard that there was not much competition and most applicants were accepted, so I didn't open the door to the interview room with a dry mouth and a heavy heart.
 
But as I said hello, one professor gasped. I started in surprise, and then this comment hit me like cold water: “No, but why did you get so ugly?”
 
Then the three of them laughed. When I managed to bring my eyes up to where the laughter was coming from, I saw three faces. It was three male professors who were known for being friendly with each other. The one who had said that was the head of the department, seated in the middle.
 
“I mean, in the picture attached to your self-introduction, your hair is long and you look feminine. I definitely remember the face in this photo... what kind of big change caused this…?”
 
His eyes were on my short hair. I wondered for a second if I should answer this question that was not a question.
 
“… I wanted to make a change when I was an exchange student, so I cut it.”
“Ah, but you look so terrible, really.”
 
My head swam a little at this completely unexpected situation. This exchange(?) had happened before I had even sat down, while my hand was still on the doorknob. Seconds passed. While I was hunched in my chair, trying to get my breath back, the professor on the right, who was clearly only halfheartedly reading my self-introduction, seemed to discover something.
 
“You spent two extra years studying for the college entrance exam? Then you must be a few years older than the other students.”
“That’s right.”
“Then… have you thought about getting married?”
 
Then another grin. Ah, so this was one of those terrible interviews that I had heard about. That’s when I finally realized my plight.
At the library. It’s a system in which women can’t help but be isolated, whether they keep studying or stop. ⓒRi Oe    
 
“I’m sorry? What do you mean?”
“I asked if you’ve thought about getting married. You’re getting older, and women who come to grad school, unlike the men, have babies and whatnot and then don’t finish the program. They disappear without having finished their coursework, let alone written a thesis. There are a lot of women like that. You, as well, say now that you want to study and so on, but who knows what will happen.  So I’m telling you before you start the program – this is an important issue.”
 
I didn’t know what to say. Applying for grad school is only possible if you have at least a speck of will to continue your studies, so I had thought the priority would be to ask (out of politeness, if nothing else) about my interests in relation to the major and what I wanted to research.  That idea had been shattered. Of course, marriage could affect my studies, but why was he asking about it as if he were telling a vulgar joke?
 
“I have no plans to marry.”
 “Alright, then.”
 
During the five minutes that the “interview” lasted, the three men’s snickering attitude continued. I had written on my statement of purpose form that I wanted to study abroad after receiving my master’s degree, and one said something like, “Why do that? Will you be able to make a living afterwards? You’ll starve, I tell you.”
 
It wasn’t unexpected. That because I wasn’t unknown to them, they might try to create a comfortable atmosphere like we were catching up with each other. But this wasn’t a “comfortable” atmosphere. It was like a drinking party for middle-aged men. Ultimately, they didn’t ask one question about my research interests during that short and yet oh-so-long five minutes.
 
Where and how should I raise a problem?
 
After coming out of the interview, I had just one thought: somehow, I have to make this humiliation known. Should I write an anonymous article in the campus newspaper? Should I rush headlong to the three professors’ offices and complain? Should I tip off the student council? These days a lot of universities in Korea require professors to take sexual harassment prevention training, so how could this happen? At the same time, another thought butted in: am I too sensitive?
 
I went first to a female professor that I trust, and explained the situation. She told me to go to the campus sexual assault counseling center. She said that they would be able to let me know the best course of action, and added this:
 
“Issues that arise within the university are sensitive, so I’m not sure how to tell you to handle this kind of thing. When I was a student, I experienced it and witnessed it several times, and I don’t think that the overall atmosphere has really changed.”
 
Her prediction was right. The sexual assault center counselor listened well enough to my story, and asked me details like the department and the names of the professors. But her attitude was also tentative. She said that telling the student council had the risk of making the incident grow too emotional, and that my identity would be ferreted out immediately if I wrote an anonymous article. The sexual assault center could form an inquiry committee and bring the issue to light, but even if my name was kept out of it, the professors couldn’t help but know it was me. As I was sitting there, listening to worries like the one that, after I started the master’s degree program, there was a high chance that I would be disadvantaged when it came to class grades or thesis evaluations, I thought, “What the hell?”
 
If I were a man…
 
Finally, I said I would think about it more and left the center. I was dejected. When I unburdened myself to my friends, I got endless sympathy and stories of similar experiences. There were more than a few cases in which, when students made a statement to the sexual assault counseling center about the professors who habitually made discriminatory remarks, the professors reported the students to the police for slander. One lecturer called a student to his house and committed clear sexual harassment several times, and when he was reported, he wrote a letter of apology and asked whether writing it might hurt his chances of becoming a professor.
 
 The last idea that my friends and I came up with after putting our heads together was to get the contact information of the other students who had been interviewed and ask them if they had experienced similar discomfort, and if so, act as a group. But when I realized that, in grad school where everyone is connected, I could become the target of criticism, I felt scared. In the end, I took no action.
 
I couldn’t help but think – how would it be if I were a man? Why is your belly so big, why is your skin such a mess, and so on – would I hear such appearance criticisms from the moment I opened the door? As far as I know, there have been no cases of that. And the questions about marriage? If I were a man, would I have faced that harassment masked as concern about whether I have gotten or will get married?
At a colloquium. After coming into contact with the professors’ attitude at my interview, my naiveté about academia disappeared. ⓒRi Oe    
 
Once more, I couldn’t help but wonder. Why are there so few women who continue studying? Because men are better at academics? Surely there is no one with such a ridiculous belief in 2016. But grad school society and academia are still very male-dominated. Why is that? Because married women have to do housework, and it’s hard to study at the same time? From its premise, this is a viewpoint that considers housework the sole province of women.
 
This “common belief” is paradoxical. It leads to finger-pointing that stops women from continuing to study, but when you become a “career-break woman,” it individualizes the problem and you are called weak-willed. It’s a system in which women can’t help but become isolated, no matter what they do. How many women have given up the studying that they wanted to do? Countless.
 
“Man+professor+middle-aged” vs. “woman+student+youth”
 
Sure, it’s possible that what I went through was a lesson in general power relations. What I still regret most is that I wasn’t able to say, clearly and immediately, “Professor, that question makes me uncomfortable.” But the reason I couldn’t say that is because the authority to decide my admission into the program is completely in their hands. And it will be the same after I’m admitted. I’ll always be the less powerful party, having to do what professors order and ceaselessly amend and censor my behavior.
 
The fact that I wondered if I was too sensitive shows that, in spite of myself, I’ve internalized the viewpoint that asks why someone would turn a joke into a life-or-death matter.  Because a student is in a weaker position than the professor in terms of age, social position, and scholarly achievements, when they express their opinions, it is common for them to be told that they are rude, pushy, or still ignorant of the world.  And if I am also a young woman? Doesn’t that mean that discrimination is unavoidable?
 
What makes me the angriest and the saddest is that even if I were a researcher or a professor of equal stature to them, I think I would have had the same thought if put in the same situation.  The structure of society makes women censor themselves by constantly asking, “Am I too sensitive?” The absolute majority of accusations of being too sensitive about trivial issues are thrown at women, young people, and people who lack power. I think that I experienced a small part of deep-rooted gender discrimination in the interview room.
 
Conservative and closed academia, my worries as an insider
 
Academia is quite a closed and conservative neighborhood. Not just in the way that academics don’t change easily, but in the fact that there is a strict hierarchy (just like there are rankings of universities), based on age and gender, between professor and student and between professor and professor. How silly I feel, having expected a comfortable and equal ‘catch-up’ chat, a free and unpretentious back-and-forth.
 
I’ve become curious about how numerous students, especially women, are treated by grad school professors who are mostly men, and what kind of situations – that are almost certainly worse than what happened to me - they are putting up with daily. And I’ve grown sad. Academia that belittles a mind that wants to learn – it’s a clear contradiction and yet a solid reality.
 
Now I’ve become an “insider” in grad school. After my interview, the part of me who harbored a simple wish to study her major in more depth is gone. I’m wondering about whether, if I encounter a similar situation, I will be able to react properly and deal with it a little better. This extra worry on top of worries about my studies and my future career can’t help but make me more tired. But living as a woman who puts up with discomfort and unpleasantness is already a somewhat tiring affair.
 
But should it also be this tiring to want professors, whose job is to teach students and conduct research at the higher educational institutions known as universities, to have the least bit of gender sensitivity?
[Translated by Marilyn Hook]
 
*Original article: http://ildaro.com/7572 Published: August 26, 2016
 
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