Imagine a world where your dreams of higher education are crushed not by your grades or abilities, but by the thickness of your family's wallet. This is the harsh reality for many North Korean students as the university application season approaches in mid-January. But here's where it gets even more disheartening: the system is rigged in favor of the wealthy, leaving talented students from poorer families with little hope of securing a spot in their desired university.
A source from Ryanggang province, speaking to Daily NK, paints a grim picture: ‘University applications are about to start, but students already feel their fate is sealed. It’s not about how hard you’ve studied or your test scores—it’s about how much money your family can shell out.’ This isn’t just a feeling; it’s a systemic issue. For instance, applicants to provincial medical schools are expected to pay around 2,000 Chinese yuan (approximately $275) in bribes, while those aiming for teachers’ colleges or universities of education must cough up about 1,000 yuan ($137). And this is the part most people miss: these bribes aren’t just about greasing palms—they’re about securing a slot that’s already in short supply, often allocated unequally among schools.
‘To get into medical school, you don’t just need money—you need to bribe the right people,’ the source explains. ‘Provincial party officials, state security officers, or police officers hold the keys to these slots. Even if you bribe someone, choosing the wrong official could mean your slot goes to someone else.’ This has led to a desperate scramble among parents to connect with the most influential officials, creating a cutthroat environment where only the wealthiest and best-connected families thrive.
This corruption isn’t new; it’s been a part of North Korea’s university admissions process for decades. As a result, many students believe that entrance exams and high school graduation tests are mere formalities, with little bearing on actual admissions. Here’s the controversial part: while educational authorities claim that admissions are based on merit, the reality on the ground tells a different story. Students from poorer families are forced to abandon their university dreams, focusing instead on finding ways to earn money to support their families.
‘A good student from a poor family doesn’t stand a chance,’ the source laments. ‘They’re not even allowed to dream of university. Meanwhile, wealthy parents are busy lobbying officials every January to secure spots for their children. It’s heartbreaking to see sincere, hardworking students give up because of their family’s financial situation.’
This systemic inequality has led to widespread distrust among students and parents toward educational authorities, schools, and even homeroom teachers. The question remains: Is this a fair system, or is it a stark reminder of how wealth and connections can override merit? What do you think? Share your thoughts in the comments—let’s spark a conversation about the role of money in education and whether this is a problem unique to North Korea or a global issue in disguise.
