The EconomistJuly 22nd 2017 Asia 212 viding line seems to be primarily between
Christians and Muslims.
Speaking at a traditional Dayak long-
house in the centre of Pontianak, not far
from a shiny new “mega mall” that houses
Starbucks, Wagamama and other Western
chains, Kristianus Atok says that the cam-
paign against Ahok shocked local people.
“If we don’t stand together the Dayaks will
be marginalised,” he concludes. As a mem-
ber of a Dayak cultural organisation, Mr
Atok travels regularly to remote corners of
Borneo. Before the campaign against
Ahok, relations between the communities
had been good, he says. But latelythere has
been less mixing between them and peo-
ple are frightened once again: “Everything
is broken.”
It is not justDayaks who are anxious.
Subro, a Madurese member of Nahdlatul
Ulama, a huge and moderate Muslim civic
group, fled pogroms elsewhere in West Ka-
limantan in 1999. He now lives with his
family on the edge of Pontianak, in an area
where many displaced Madurese were re-
settled. Defaced postersof Mr Shihab line
the bumpy road that leads to his home. “As
Madurese, we are worried because there
were bad days before,” he says.
In January an Islamist preacher from Ja-
karta, Tengku Zulkarnain, attempted to ad-
dress a rally in Sintang, deep in West Kali-
mantan’s forests, but angry Dayak
tribesmen brandishing swords chased him
off. Local Muslim groups took offence.
They organised a protest in Pontianak in
May on the same day as an annual Dayak
festival. Happily, the police managed to
keep the rival groups apart.
Agus Setiadji is the 33-year-old leader of
the United Malay People, one of the main
groups behind the protest in Pontianak. He
wears a traditional head-kerchief and a
blackT-shirt displaying two daggers above
the slogan, “We are proud to be Malay”. Mr
Setiadji complains that the Malays have
been sidelined by Mr Cornelis. Govern-
ment jobs and funds have gone only to the
Dayaks, he says. Mr Setiadji predicts that if
conflict comes, it will be worse than any-
thing West Kalimantan has seen before:
“We are ready for war.” 7“I
F YOU don’t have the ability then
blame your parents,” wrote Jung
Yoo-ra on social media in 2014, after being
accepted into a prestigious university. Her
mother, it turns out, had gone to great
lengths to secure a spot for her, inducing
Ehwa Women’s University to alter its ad-
missions policy in a manner tailor-made
for Ms Jung. Last month a court ruled that
the nine people involved in thissubterfuge
had fundamentally shaken the “values of
fairness that prop up our society”. Above
all, the “feelings of emptiness and betrayal
they caused in hardworking students”
could not be excused.
University was once seen as a source of
social mobility in South Korea. But so im-
portant is the right degree to a student’s
prospects in life that rich families began
spending heavily on coaching to improve
their children’s chances, leaving poorer
families behind. By 2007 over three-quar-
ters of students were receiving some form
of private tuition, spawning a maxim
about the three necessities to win a place at
a good university: “father’s wealth, moth-
er’s information, child’s stamina”. A report
by the ministry of education found that in
2016 households with monthly incomes of
7m won ($6,230) or more were spending
443,000 won a month on private educa-tion, nine times as much as families bring-
ing in 1m won or less.
Many South Koreans believe that the
rich and influential do not just spend more
on education, they also manipulate the
system, as Ms Jung’s mother, a close friend
of the previous president, did so spectacu-
larly. According to the Pew Research Cen-
tre, a think-tank, only a fifth of those aged
18-33 believe that working hard brings suc-
cess. An ever-growing dictionary of slangattests to the perception: people speak of
using “back” (backing, or connections) to
get jobs; when Ms Jung refused to return to
South Korea to face charges related to her
university admission, the local press
dubbed it a “gold-spoon escape”. And 34%
of young people say they feel “isolation
due to academic cliques” at work.
The unfairness is all the more galling
because of the fierce competition for jobs.
This year there were 36 applicants for ev-
ery job, up from 32 two years ago. Youth
unemployment reached a record 12% earli-
er this year.
Frustrated young people are starting to
speak out. The activists ofa group called
Hidden Bag run a small yearly campaign to
“reject university entrance”, trying to per-
suade people to boycott the whole process.
At a recent film festival in Seoul, Hidden
Bag provided “healing kits” for young peo-
ple wishing to challenge “never-ending
competition” and “education-based lim-
its”. Colourful sweets, packaged to look
like medicine, were handed out to stu-
dents to encourage them to take a stand.
Some were labelled “courage”, others
“strength”. By spurning the rat race, they
hope to raise “fundamental questions”
about prevailing values. Fewer than 70% of
school leavers went on to university last
year, the lowest level in almost 20 years.
Moon Jae-in, the president since May,
has pledged that under his administration
“the thickness of a parent’s purse” will not
determine their children’s prospects. This
week an MPfrom his party introduced leg-
islation to extend the “blind hiring” pro-
cess used in the civil service, whereby ap-
plicants are judged only on standardised
exams, not on their academic record, to
state-owned firms as well. The bill’s author
is also proposing an amendment based on
another oddity of Ms Jung’s admission:
she scored badly in her written exam, but
was given full marks for the interview. The
amendment would require all university
interviews to be recorded or minuted for
transparency. Blame Ms Jung’s parents. 7Inequality in South KoreaDegrees of disenchantment
Seoul
Young people are losing faith in an elitist education systemUniversital values