This is a conversational audio version of my Substack post—plus some of the research I couldn’t squeeze into the newsletter. Made with NotebookLM.
(New here? You can catch up on the main series starting with “Growing Up in Korea: But First, Why Korea?”)
Welcome back, culture explorers!
We’ve marched through May in Korea—starting with the candy-stuffed joy of Children’s Day (May 5) and the floral sentimentality of Parents’ Day (May 8). Now we arrive at May 15, a day once reserved for bowing deeply, shedding tears to sentimental songs, and maybe—if you were lucky—getting a new pen from a grateful student.
Today is Teachers’ Day (스승의 날 – Seuseung-ui Nal) in Korea, and trust me: this isn’t your standard “thanks for the homework” affair. It’s a day rooted in royal birthdays, Confucian ideals, and modern controversy. So grab a symbolic carnation (yes, again!) and let’s dive in.
“Don’t Even Step on Their Shadow” (스승의 그림자도 밟지 않는다)
To understand Teachers’ Day in Korea, you first need to understand the term Seuseung (스승), because Teachers’ Day in Korean is Seuseung-ui Nal (스승의 날).
Seuseung isn’t just any educator. It’s a mentor. A moral compass. A life guide.
Imagine a teacher who’s part life coach, part philosopher—and held in the kind of reverence usually reserved for royalty.
A classic Korean proverb drives the point home:
“Gun-Sa-Bu-Ilche” (군사부일체 – Goon-Sa-Bu-Il-che), meaning “King, Teacher, and Father are One.” In other words, all three deserve the same unshakable respect.
Another saying? “One must not even step on a teacher’s shadow” (스승의 그림자도 밟지 않는다, Seuseung-ui geurimjado balbji anneunda). That’s not metaphorical. Students were once told to literally avoid walking on the silhouette of a teacher. Now that’s respect—verging on stealth mission.
Royal Roots: From Red Cross Kids to King Sejong
Here’s a plot twist: Teachers’ Day didn’t start with a government order. It began with teenage kindness. In the 1950s and early 60s, Youth Red Cross members began visiting their retired or sick teachers. They brought snacks. Wrote letters. It was all very wholesome.
By 1963, the idea gained traction. By 1965, it became official. And why May 15? Because it’s the birthday of King Sejong the Great (세종대왕)—the visionary ruler who invented Hangeul (한글 – Han-geul). Known as “The Teacher of Ten Thousand Generations,” Sejong wasn’t just a king— he was Korea’s most iconic national educator. Naming Teachers’ Day after him feels not only appropriate—it’s meaningful and deeply symbolic.
The Glory Days: Pre-2016 Celebrations
Before the law got involved (we’ll get there), Teachers’ Day was an emotional rollercoaster of carnations, tears, and chaotic classroom performances.
- Carnations Everywhere: Just like on Parents’ Day, students pinned red or pink carnations to their teachers’ chests. No buttonhole was safe.
- Gift Galore: Students wrote heartfelt letters and brought chocolates, cosmetics—even watches. When I was in elementary school in Korea, kids would line up on Teachers’ Day to place their presents on the teacher’s desk. Back then, each class had 50 to 60 students. Just imagine the mountain of gifts that would pile up!
- The Anthem: The day always ended with teary renditions of “The Teacher’s Grace” (스승의 은혜 – Seuseung-ui Eune). The line “Teacher’s grace is as high as the heavens…” (스승의 은혜는 하늘 같어서… – Seuseung-ui eune-neun haneul gataseo…) still gets adults misty-eyed.
Enter the Killjoy (or Hero?): The Kim Young-ran Act
Korea’s Teachers’ Day was rolling along just fine—until cash-stuffed “tokens of appreciation” ( 촌지 – Chon-ji) showed up with a briefcase full of problems.
These were unofficial cash “gifts” from parents to teachers—often given with a wink and a hope for better grades or attention. As you might guess, this led to uncomfortable power dynamics, corruption concerns, and a media field day.
In 2016, the Kim Young-ran Act slammed the brakes. This anti-corruption law banned public officials—including teachers—from receiving gifts related to their job, even a single carnation or a cup of coffee.
The Fallout:
- No More Gifts: Even small tokens were deemed risky.
- Only Symbolism Allowed: A single public bouquet presented by a student rep? Still allowed—barely.
- Mixed Reactions: Some hailed it as a blow to corruption. Others mourned the loss of genuine gestures. Did we throw out the heartfelt card with the bribe envelope?
A Holiday at a Crossroads: The Decline of Teacher Authority and Modern Tensions
There’s a darker reason for Teachers’ Day’s decline: the erosion of teacher authority.
What does that mean?
- Students have more rights (a good thing), but teachers now struggle to manage classrooms without fear of lawsuits or complaints.
- Some parents treat teachers like customer service agents—complete with verbal abuse or threats.
- Teacher assaults, burnout, and tragic incidents have made headlines.
- Some educators now see Teachers’ Day not as a moment of gratitude—but as an awkward reminder of how underappreciated they feel.
The New Reality:
- Some teachers want it abolished altogether.
- Many schools just shut down for the day. A quiet, no-cake retreat.
- The day has shifted from celebration to soul-searching.
Why It Still Matters (Even Now)
And yet, Teachers’ Day still lingers.
Not in its past grandeur—but as a flicker of a beautiful idea: that somewhere between curriculum and chaos, a mentor once changed your life.
Alumni, no longer bound by anti-graft laws, often reach out to their former teachers. A quiet phone call. A thank-you note. A visit.
When I was in elementary school in Korea, I used to prepare a card and a small gift for former teachers I felt especially grateful to. Before I moved to Thailand, I used to go back to my old elementary school on Teachers’ Day, even after I started middle school. I’d bring a handwritten card and a small present to teachers I loved.
In college, I went to a small liberal arts school in Korea that grouped students into cross-grade teams of about 25, each with a faculty advisor. On Teachers’ Day, we’d decorate our professor’s office door—the more elaborate, the better. Eventually, the school even created a prize for the best-decorated door. It was fun, a little silly, and still rooted in genuine appreciation.
But things are changing.
A friend of mine who teaches at a Korean university told me that these days, students are more likely to visit their cram school instructors than their school teachers on Teachers’ Day.
In today’s hyper-competitive education landscape, some students feel closer to the tutors who coached them through crucial entrance exams than to the homeroom teachers who saw them every day. It’s a striking shift that says a lot about how the role of the teacher is being redefined.
It’s a complicated observance now—but perhaps all the more human for it.
Wrapping Up Our May Gratitude Gauntlet
In Korea, May is known as Family Month—a whirlwind of celebration, reflection, and shifting emotions. Each week brings a different kind of connection:
🎈 On Children’s Day, joy bursts out in parks and playgrounds, wrapped in gifts and giggles.
🌸 On Parents’ Day, carnations bloom on jackets, and emotions run deep between generations.
🌿 On Teachers’ Day, things grow quieter—tinged with complexity, nostalgia, and sometimes discomfort.
From noisy playgrounds to tearful tributes to silent classrooms, Korea’s May commemorations trace a vivid emotional arc.
Thanks for joining me on this three-part journey through Korea’s culture of gratitude—I hope it’s sparked reflection on how we celebrate, and why.
Next Thursday, we pivot—from florals to fierce ambition. I’ll be diving into Korea’s medical school mania, where 12-year-olds map out their futures with surgical precision. You won’t want to miss it.
