Here’s an audio documentary in two parts from CBC Radio’s Ideas, on being and becoming Canadian, and the experiences of one Korean family.

The first time I took the citizenship oath, back in 1979, I was 12 years old. My family had been in Canada for only a few years and we were living in Regina.

The ceremony was in a big beige building on Victoria Street. And everyone in the family was very nervous.

My mom made us get “dressed up” in our very best outfits. They were so uncomfortable that my sisters Yu-Kyung and Hi-Kyung, and my little brother Ung-So and I were all fidgeting.

My dad kept saying (over and over): “This is a Very Important Occasion. When we come home today we’ll be Canadian.”

I had no idea what he meant: would we stop eating rice? Stop using our Korean names? Stop being… Korean??? And when I looked around the room, things got even more confusing. Everyone was white, except for us. As far as I knew, white people were already Canadian. So what were they doing here?

The question of what it means to be Canadian is one I like to think most Canadians have gnawed at sometime in the past.

For a Korean living in Korea, one of the world’s more monolithic monocultures, the question of what it means to be Korean is pretty easily answered. For an immigrant to Canada, the questions of what it means to be Korean or Canadian, or both, becomes a lot more slippery.

I’ve lived in Korea for more than ten years, and though I am a permanent resident and may soon receive dual nationality, I am not in my mind or in the mind of any Koreans I know, anything but Canadian, and that won’t change even if I receive a passport.

Were the situation reversed, it becomes harder, for the Korean immigrant, of course. Though in the eyes of the law, and in the eyes of their fellow Canadians, once they have been granted citizenship, they are Canadian. But in their minds and hearts, the balance is lot more precarious — to what extent am I Canadian, and to what extent and in what ways Korean?

For most Koreans, the answers venture into things folks in the west, outside of America at least, feel a little uncomfortable talking about these days — bloodlines and ‘race’. We prefer to talk about ethnicity, or culture, or language, at least in part because it feels like history has left fewer examples washed up on the beach of organized murder and institutional hatred based on these.

I believe — the inevitable strains of racism and xenophobia aside — that Canada’s way (or at least ideal) of accepting and encouraging immigrants to become Canadian while retaining their own cultural identity has been the wisest way, and stands in stark contrast to the America’s ‘you come to American, you’re American now, son’.

But it doesn’t make for easy answers to hard questions.

Like every government everywhere, the Korean government has a long and storied tradition of getting things exactly wrong, of creating policies by fiat and without consultation that worsen the problem they were intended to address, and result in unintended consequences down the line. The newest proposed change to regulations for the single largest group of foreign temporary residents — holders of 1-year E2 English teacher visas — neatly fits the bill.

There have been some recent and welcome improvements to immigration regulations in Korea recently, with holders of spousal F-class visas, for example, being granted more freedoms and rights, and these have been very welcome for long-term foreign residents. The changes, it must be said, have not come as a result of any consideration towards (the mostly male) foreign professionals with Korean spouses resident here, they’ve come from the changing requirements of male Korean citizens with foreign wives, a pairing once almost unheard-of. It’s a response to the rapidly shifting demographics in the farming communities of Korea, where last year saw a rise of mixed-nationality marriages to more than 40% of total marriages in the countryside, from near-zero as recently as five years ago. The story behind this sea-change is a fascinating one, and one that will have revolutionary effects on Korean society in the decades to come. The short version: there are thousands of male farmers of marriageable age in the small towns and villages of Korea entirely unable to find Korean wives, because of both demographics (the rock-bottom birth rate, the preference (actionable in recent decades through banned but not unusual sex-selective abortion) for male children, and the flight of young women and men both to the cities) and economics (no city girl wants to move into the countryside, which is for the most part like moving half a century into the poverty-sticken past). So women are being imported from China and south-east Asia, and what was once a nearly-total ethnic uniformity has exploded into something very different. It’s going to make for interesting times.

But that’s not what I want to write about today.

A LITTLE BACKGROUND

Recent years have seen a rise both in the frequency and intensity of media hand-wringing over some of the less savory people showing up in Korea to teach English. There have been fear-mongering exposés (nothing new, it must be said) of foreign teachers using and selling drugs, and recent discoveries of expat teachers with records of sexual abuse of children in their home countries have (justifiably) terrified many.

Now, I’ve long argued that the responsibility for the execrable overall quality of English ‘teachers’ in Korea can be laid squarely at the foot of the Korean government. Because of the overwhelming demand for teachers, they have, since the early days, allowed anyone with a) a pulse, b) English as a native tongue, and c) a degree in any discipline to come to Korea to teach English to children, adults, university students, whoever.

It doesn’t take a great deal of insight to realize that merely being able to speak a language does not magically grant one the skills to teach it in a classroom situation to others. To speak it with others, certainly. And I will grant that given the paradoxial pedagogical laxity with which most language schools and education departments are organized and run — an artifact, to a large extent, of a focus on the business rather than the educational needs of the ‘customers’ — many tens of thousands of ‘teachers’ from foreign countries have been able to fake it. Make with the idle chat, collect a paycheck. Some of those even had some natural ability or interest, and became, without the benefit of any kind of formal training in educational principles, to become effective teachers. A very very few (a handful of the hundreds I’ve met over the years) actually had some kind of certification to teach that wasn’t laser-printed in the back room of a 2-week TESL Certification mill in Bangkok or Bangor.

But the vast majority of arrivals over the past couple of decades have come and gone to make some easy cash, party, travel and have an overseas experience, because, thanks to the open policies of immigration here, it’s been cowboy country.

If the Korean government had required or allowed (and we could choose any or all of these) a) teaching experience, b) certification in teaching or in ESL from an accredited institution, c) any kind of vetting process before the candidate boarded a plane, d) the establishment of some kind of standards agency or organization, e) even the most cursory of regulation of the legendarily corrupt and massive hagwon (private school) industry, f) professional foreign consultants/interviewers (because, in all honesty, it seems almost impossible for many Koreans to distinguish seriously odd or hinky behaviour or personality traits from what they perceive to be the overall oddness of foreign attitudes), the consequences would have been better teachers, better quality of education provided, less conflict between foreign employees and Korean employers, and a more stable, professional workforce. Of course, making it more difficult for the less desirable candidates to show up and get in front of a class would increase demand and salaries for the ones who were professional and qualified. I can’t say that that would upset me much.

But nothing was done, and ‘teachers’ good, bad, and ugly poured into Korea. And some of them, almost inevitably, were kid-fondlers, some of them were idiotic enough to not be able to resist getting high, and most were less interested in teaching than they were paying off their student loans. (I’ve nothing in principle against drug use, but when one lives in a country where the laws and cultural norms are different from where one was raised, one makes allowances. When in Rome.) But naturally, it is the squeaky wheel that gets the grease, and the bad news that gets the breathless xenophobic media coverage.

NEW DEVELOPMENTS

So the government has just announced it is planning to institute the following changes, beginning in December 2007, according to the Korea Herald. In less than 7 weeks time from when I write this, at the outside.

According to a Ministry of Justice press release, foreigners who apply for teaching visas will have to submit a criminal background check, a medical check, and must undergo an interview with the closest Korean consulate to their home town. Visa runs to Japan will also be scrapped. Teachers must now receive and renew visas their home country.

Now I find little to argue with in terms of health checks. It seems a reasonable hurdle, one that other countries in which I’ve worked have required in order for me to receive a visa. A criminal background check, ditto. These are quite reasonable, and sensible, even if they do not really address the problems that they are ostensibly intended to address, which is dangerous or criminal behaviour once candidates arrive in Korea, nor do they address the real problem, which is that an open door employment policy opens the door to everyone, desirable or not.

But the last two stipulations, let alone causing grief for people who might be interested in coming to Korea (and it can be depended on that there are very few who really want to come Korea, but again, that’s another story), but it will cause a change in the English education industry here that will result in chaos and difficulties for the very people — business owners, students, and parents of children who are students — that the new legislation is meant to protect.

First, in a country the size of Canada, for example, from which the vast majority of English teachers in Korea these days come, the nearest place that a potential candidate from Nova Scotia or PEI would be able to have an interview would be Montreal. For someone from the Territories, or Northern BC, or Saskatchewan, it would be Vancouver. These are journeys of more than 1000 kilometers in most cases, and expensive. Given that most foreign teachers give as their primary reason for coming to Korea the need to make and save money, this is going to choke off a significant percentage of potential teachers. School owners in Korea, notorious for their stinginess, almost certainly won’t be footing the bills, even if the interview in Canada is a success. The notion of requiring face-to-face interviews is a reasonable and good one, but this is a counterproductive way to do it.

Second, the requirement for return to one’s home country in order to renew a visa is a death knell. Previously, E2 visa holders, if changing employers (or, in years past, merely extending their contract at the same employer), could hop over to Japan for a weekend with their paperwork, and return with a new visa. The requirement to spend, at a minimum, $2000-$3000 dollars to return to Canada, America, Australia (or wherever) to renew a visa will mean that an even larger proportion of teachers will spend no more than one year in Korea. There would simply be too little remunerative incentive to do so.

Which means that continuity for students is lost. Which means that rather than having teachers who have over a few years had the time to develop some sensitivity to Korean culture, some understanding of the people, some language skills, and some armour against the culture shock that hits everyone in their first 6 months — well, you’ll see a continuous carousel of shell-shocked newbies, their heads ringing with alienation, complaining, carousing, and, most importantly, given that there will be no new requirements for professional experience or qualification, not having the time to learn how to actually be effective teachers.

The result will, of course, be fewer teachers, but not better ones. This makes long-term pros like me, unaffected by these visa changes, all that much more a valuable commodity. I’m OK with that.

But I do hate to see the Korean government shoot themselves in the foot yet again, especially when the net result will be fewer teachers, another low ebb for quality and availability of education, no improvement in the actual quality or professionalism of people who jump through the new hoops, and the system once again failing the very people its meant to serve — students of English and their families.

I applaud the Korean government for taking the long overdue iniative in making an attempt to clean up the mess that the industry is in, but I can’t help but condemn them for not addressing the real problems, and enacting ‘reforms’ that will only make the situation worse.

Unintended consequences.