Sangwoo from Seoul University
Why “Squid Game” loves to remind us of Sangwoo’s academic background.
“Squid Game” has been lightening up the internet for weeks now. People all around the world have been hooked on this brutal survival story coming from South Korea.
It’s no surprise. Despite the “foreign” character of games, the overall theme of the story: the class divide, has universal appeal. And so does the main cast, who serve as tools to showcase the problems plaguing today’s South Korea — the inhumane treatment of immigrants (Ali), gambling addiction (Gi-hoon) or lack of support for North Korean refugees (Sae-byeok).
The matters are slightly different for the fourth member of the team, ruthless Cho Sangwoo, also known as a “Seoul University graduate”, who is swimming in debts due to series of bad investments. Sangwoo is the brain of “Squid Game” and the designated serious man. And yet, he’s also at the heart of one of the few amusing moments in the series.
The viewers all around the world found themselves scratching heads at №456, Gi-hoon’s constant need to bring up Sangwoo’s alma mater— when Sangwoo is way past his twenties. After all, in the West, a similar boasting remark about a middle-aged friend’s ivy league history would be a sure way to raise some eyebrows.
Some even suggested it was the director, Hwang Dong-hyuk stroking his own ego (Hwang is also a graduate of Seoul National University). However, I believe Sangwoo’s academic history is a crucial element of his character.
In South Korea the academic background is king.
The number of South Koreans enrolled in higher institutions has been rapidly rising through the years. In the 1980s, under the military government, the number of students oscillated around 20%. Thirty years later, in the late 00s, it reached a whopping 80%.
In eyes of many Koreans, only college on one’s resume can help in achieving higher social standing. For them, the goal is clear: get into SKY — an abbreviation standing for three Seoul-based elite universities: Seoul University, Koryo University and Yonsei University.
Not only is the competition huge, but the process isn’t easy. The first step is taking a Suneung a.k.a The College Scholastic Ability Test (CSAT) — an eight-hour-long exam taken in a single day. The importance of Suneung cannot be understated. On the day of the exam, the planes stop flying, the companies move their working hours and police wait on the street to collect late-running high schoolers. It’s a big deal.
But even passing the exam with flying colours isn’t enough. Just as important are recommendation letters from one’s high school teachers, volunteer and club activities and an experience as an intern — a system that is predictably skewed towards the wealthy.
South Korea is considered the most educated country in the world.
Perhaps, too educated.
The abnormally high percentage of university graduates makes it difficult to find a white-collar job. That’s why those trying to maximize their chances feel the need to get into the best higher institutions in the country.
And if one fails? They may try again next year, spending the following twelve months on intense studying sessions, while living in Goshiwon — a tiny room constituting of a bed and a desk (also seen in episode 2, used by the detective’s brother).
The issue that is the academic craze has been a hot topic in the Korean media. One of the best-rated TV shows in South Korea is 2018 “SKY Castle “, portraying the country’s elites trying to get their children into Seoul National University by throwing piles of money, of course.
Cho Sangwoo isn’t rich. He’s a son of a mere fish seller, who has triumphed over thousands of hopefuls. It’s a Korean dream.
The students at Seoul National University students are widely recognized as the intellectual 1% — the brightest young students in the country, who had to work incredibly hard to get to where they are. The moment they enter the university they become somebody to admire. Sangwoo has been revered since he has been nineteen, proclaimed to be “the pride of Ssangmun-dong”. It’s very likely our main hero, Gi-hoon has been compared to him for years.
Of course, the high status and admiration only made Sangwoo’s downfall much more difficult to swallow. His decision to disappear (and later attempted suicide) is a decision many in his position take. In 2020, BBC ran a feature about men disappearing in Japan, a phenomenon named jōhatsu — Japanese for “evaporation”. Those men, who failed in their professional life, choose to leave their families without explanation.
Sangwoo is no different. He doesn’t try to run away to a foreign country to try to forge a new life. He stays in South Korea, and yet he prefers to stay away from his mother and keep her in blissful ignorance, fearing her reaction and losing face in the eyes of others.
