Christina Rho
2009 ETA Program

Before the ETA program, I took Gandhi’s words to heart and tried to be the change that I wanted to see in the world starting with my Fulbright ETA grant year in South Korea. While change encompasses many features, I primarily perceive it as being assisted through greater dialogues and open communications among multiple stakeholders. For my interests in particular, I wanted to help interactions between Korea and the United States thrive. As a result, I initially approached teaching high school students with a savior complex. I wanted to prepare my students to make changes. I wanted to make a difference However, lesson plans did not always pan out to be as successful in practice, which often left me questioning if I was getting through to my students— let alone making a difference. Are my students learning? Am I effectively teaching? Is meeting classes not as frequently as regular classes going to have any impact? How do programs like the ETA grant compare to and/or exist with English tutoring and/or private academies, which are frequently too expensive and not readily available to all students? Fortunately, throughout my ETA year, I eventually learned that programs such as the ETA Program are not solely about teaching or delivering acts of service. It is also about listening, observing, and sharing diverse experiences between educators and learners alike. Teaching, as a matter of fact, is rather incomplete without learning and vice versa. Effective teaching and learning, therefore, is a two way street. Teaching is largely effective when teachers learn how to present and package lessons that are contextually conducive to learning. Likewise, learning is generally effective when students take the teachings they received beyond school grounds by utilizing what is available to them to forge their own paths of understanding. It is all about attitude, and optimism goes a long way. In hindsight, I think (and hope) that I somehow contributed to change, and if not, at least provided additional views of understandings, between Korea and the United States. Learning never stops, but it took being a part of the ETA Program to internalize that learning is a lifelong process. Thus, what Fulbright Korea and other similar programs are doing is so essential in terms of providing supplementary English education in South Korea. It fosters an opportunity (for better or worse) for students and teachers to mutually exchange their views on and about their diverse lives. Or, at the very least, encourage students to seek multiple resources in and out of the classrooms to address both domestic and global issues. As an ETA my grant year once shared at a workshop, ETAs are more English cheerleaders than English teachers. What students do with the information we present is entirely up to them, but at least they know there is something else out there. In fact, as teachers, we generally motivate students to seek, grapple, and innovate with what is available to further evolve our lives. In the end, we cheer—not preach.

Excerpt from 20 Years of Teaching & Learning. Seoul: Korea-American Educational Commission, 2012, pp. 77-78

Ajay Bangale
2007 ETA Program

When I made the decision to relinquish my Blackberry rights and embark on a year filled with kimchi, bibimbap and a wide assortment of exotic Korean treats, I obviously had more than food in mind. Rather, the ability to test my limits and expose myself beyond my usual comfort zone was a powerful driver in making my decision. Furthermore, the opportunity to pursue studies and teach in an area of the world I had only read about seemed quite attractive. I had no idea that the way I think, react, listen, and teach would be completely transformed during my one-year fellowship abroad. The first seven weeks in South Korea were by far the most challenging; they involved learning the Korean language from scratch. After an intensive language training program, I had elevated my language skills to the level of a Korean kindergarten students. I could successfully tell a taxi driver where to take me as well as navigate a Korean food menu without having to resort to a translator. I relished in my small, adaptive successes that I would never have even blinked about back in New York. The opportunity to live with a host family also helped speed up my adaptation to a new culture and gave me the proper foundation to understand Korean family customs and traditions. Five generations of family members occupied three relatively modest rooms. From my five-year-old host brother all the way up to the eighty-six-year-old host great-grandmother, I was able to witness the various ‘stages’ of Korean life. The proper ways to bow, the proper ways of serving water to one’s elders, the daily pear and apple eating rituals after every dinner; these were all new traditions that I openly came to embrace and adapt myself to during my year. I also constantly interacted with professors and fellow students who had limited English skills. There were many frustrating times when an idea or concept that I wanted to get through could not properly register on the other end. Yet patience, and mutual understanding, helped me get through these more linguistically painful times. By constantly jotting down questions I had in my notebook, I was able to remember and reinforce some of the open points. All the small adaptive steps that I took during my Fulbright year in South Korea have been crucial to both my professional and personal development. I could have stayed in my corporate cubicle for another year without seizing the chance to do a Fulbright abroad. Yet, I am extremely grateful that I had the opportunity to live in South Korea; I would undoubtedly make the same decision again today. During these twelve months, I was constantly challenged not only in reassessing previous beliefs and perceptions, but was also able to learn and mold myself with each new experience.

Excerpt from 20 Years of Teaching & Learning. Seoul: Korea-American Educational Commission, 2012, pp. 70-71

Ashley Quarcoo
2002 ETA Program

Last month, I sat on a plane on my way to Seoul, dreaming of hodduck and yujacha. It was my first trip back to Korea since 2004, when I had returned after the conclusion of my Fulbright Award to attend the graduation of my 3rd grade students at Hanbada Middle School in Busan. I wanted to return to Korea to say farewell to the only class of students I had the privilege of teaching for an entire year, to reconnect with my favorite host teachers before they were transferred to new schools, and to visit my dear fellow ETA friend, who had remained in Korea to reconnect with her Korean birth family. That visit represented a hundred points of light of my ETA year in Korea. I recently re-read an essay I wrote in 2003 for the Korea Fulbright Review, reflecting on my year of teaching and learning as an ETA. At its core, the essay and the year that it chronicled was a reflection of a very personal journey – that of a young, African-American woman navigating the boundaries of her own identity in a culture that did not necessarily celebrate diversity. I will never know whether my lessons on Nina Simone or Martin Luther King cultivated a more nuanced understanding of American society among my students. What I do know much more clearly today is the impact that each of my interactions – with my students, my fellow teachers, and my fellow ETAs – had on my own sense of self and my ability to successfully navigate a new culture and an unfamiliar setting. I credit my ETA experience with shaping both personal interests and professional aspirations that remain with me today. Following my return to the United States, I became a Teach for America Corps Member in New York City, motivated largely by a desire to help underprivileged youth to develop the knowledge and skills necessary for responsible global citizenship. Today, I continue this passion through volunteer work with an NGO focused on youth development through international education. I hope one day to bring a cohort of these students to Korea for the same transformative cultural experience that has influenced me so profoundly. Yet, even more than the impact that my Fulbright experience had on my personal and professional development, there was no experience more rewarding during my year in Busan than the relationship I developed with my host family. I remember clearly meeting them for the first time – it was my first real foray into Korean society away from my fellow ETAs, and I was terrified that I would be different from what they expected. I could never have imagined how fully this family would embrace me as one of their own. On my second day after arriving in Busan, my host father took a very rare vacation day from work – the only vacation day I saw him take all year – to take me on a trip to the ancient Korean city of Gyeongju. Through the generosity and affection of my host family, I was able not only to witness Korean life, but to be a full participant in it. Their adoption of me did not end there – it also extended to my mother and now husband, both of whom visited Korea, and felt keenly the same degree of warmth and kindness from them. Despite long lapses in communication with my host family, I have never forgotten their deep openness and generosity. Two years ago, my host sister Yuri traveled from Korea in order to attend my wedding in Atlanta. It was an incredibly moving reunion that touched my entire family. At that time, I learned that since my departure, my host father had taken up painting as a new hobby. He sent with Yuri one of my most treasured wedding gifts – an original painting of the city of Gyeong-ju. So, here I was, eight years since my last visit, on a plane headed back to Seoul. This time, I was returning to attend Yuri’s graduation from Ewha Women’s University and to reunite with my host family. Despite the rustiness of my Korean, I easily fell into broken conversation with my appa and omma, and could not believe that my host brother, Myong-Hun, had somehow transformed from a 5th grader into a junior in college. And despite the fact that I had come to celebrate Yuri’s wonderful accomplishment, I myself somehow ended up going home loaded with gifts and Korean snacks courtesy of my host family. In turn, they were surprised at all I had retained of Korea in the intervening years – the names of my favorite Korean dishes, the importance of insa, the painting of Gyeongju that now graces my home. For me, this relationship is the legacy of my Fulbright experience. It has sustained itself over time and space, across graduations, marriages, moves to new cities, military service, career changes. It demonstrates that personto-person relationships can transform the way that Koreans and Americans understand and relate to each other. I will always appreciate the unique opportunity to be immersed in Korea, its culture, and its people. But I will most deeply treasure this surprising friendship between two families that will continue to sustain my connection to Korea for years to come.

Excerpt from 20 Years of Teaching & Learning. Seoul: Korea-American Educational Commission, 2012, pp. 54-56

Katrin Katz
2000 ETA Program

When I applied to the ETA Program as a senior in college, I had two largely personal goals: to get back to East Asia (I had spent a year living in Kyoto, Japan as a junior) and to live in a country I had not traveled to before. Regarding the latter goal, I was admittedly not in the most pragmatic mindset. While other seniors were gearing up for their first ‘real jobs’ out of school, I was driven primarily by an intense curiosity to see if I would ‘sink or swim’ in a country whose culture and language were a blank slate to me. As such, I was more interested in testing my limits personally at that time than in building my professional or academic credentials. But a funny thing happened along the path of learning to survive as a young and clueless miguk saram in Korea: I developed a passion for the country so deep that it literally took the reins of charting my career path moving forward. I did not know exactly the type of work I was best suited to at that time—academia? government? business?—but I knew that I would feel a sense of fulfillment as long as my work enabled me to deepen my knowledge of this fascinating country. What was it, precisely, about my experiences as an ETA, and later as the program’s first ETA coordinator, that gave me the “Korea bug?” Was it the opportunity to bond with other ETAs while we learned the Korean phrase for “please do not boil my underwear” during our summer language training sessions in the hills of Chuncheon? Was it the smiling faces of my students when some English phrase I was struggling to impart on them finally ‘clicked’? Was it the humiliating-yet-hilarious opportunity to sing an off-key version of “How Deep is Your Love”—complete with hand gestures and backup singers—to an auditorium of 700 students and their families at the annual “Mon-yo-go” variety show? (It is a tribute to the depth of my affection for my students that they talked me into that one.) Or was it my homestay mother in Mokpo, who proudly proclaimed to anyone who entered our home that I was her “daughter”—not her homestay daughter, her real daughter—prompting intense levels of curiosity among Mokpo’s social circles? In truth, the Korea bug bit me at several moments over the course of my time as an ETA. I was left with an overall impression of a country that faces great challenges (these were the post-IMF, early ‘Sunshine Policy’ days) with immense soul. Having the opportunity to learn more about Korean history and politics while I lived there, I was deeply inspired by the ability of this people, this culture, this economy, to thrive in the midst of great uncertainties in the security realm. It became clear to me that at the core of Korea’s ability to stake its bold claim in this world is the grit and determination of its people. And so a combination of comical/personal and more serious/universal realizations about Korea instilled in me a passion for this peninsula—its people, its culture, and its security challenges. Since leaving Korea, I received a master’s degree in East Asian and International Security Studies, worked alumni stories | 49 for the U.S. government in Washington, DC—culminating in a one-year stint as the Director for Japan, Korea and Oceanic Affairs at the White House National Security Council—and, at present, am pursuing a PhD in Political Science with a focus on sovereignty issues in East Asia. Each of these phases of my career has involved work with Koreans on Korea-related issues. As such, I may have left Korea in 2002 but Korea has not left me. I credit the ETA Program with providing this focus—I entered the program with a fuzzy interest in adventure and left with a passion that continues to drive my life’s work.

Excerpt from 20 Years of Teaching & Learning. Seoul: Korea-American Educational Commission, 2012, pp. 47-49

Christopher Steubing
1998 ETA Program

In the summer of 1998, while the South Korean soccer team was making a surprise showing in the World Cup, I arrived in Seoul with 18 other ETAs. Twenty years old and newly-graduated from college, I began my Fulbright experience with a hunger for learning and adventure. After a few days exploring the capital, we traveled to Chuncheon for a six-week orientation before receiving our teaching assignments. Besides the intensive sessions on Korean language and cultural awareness, our experience was rich with learning through exploring local cuisine, taking taekwondo classes, and reflecting with fellow ETAs. The most valuable lesson I learned during my year in Korea, however, was the experience of living as a foreigner which became much more intense once I left the comfortable confines of the Kangwon University campus and moved in with my host family in Changwon. As a white male from the United States, I am a privileged member of the dominant culture. In South Korea I was an outsider, a foreigner, and adjusting to this new identity was one of the most challenging and valuable experiences of my life. As a foreigner, I often felt excluded. There were times I felt like an outcast; like I didn’t fit in. Cultural practices were strange to me. Much of the food was unrecognizable and smelled funny. Since my language skills were less than stellar, my presence in a room full of work colleagues tended to make others feel uncomfortable so sometimes people would just leave when they realized I was there. I got stares as I walked down the street because there were very few other European-looking people who lived in Changwon at the time and I’d often hear children yell out to me “America” or “Michael Jordan.” When people tried to include me it often seemed forced, like the time my host mother made me American pizza for dinner. All the good intentions in the world couldn’t make pizza out of white bread, slathered with ketchup, and topped with yellow processed cheese. I will never forget a fellow ETA who is Korean-American saying to me, “I’m glad you’ve had this experience because now you know what it’s like for me every day of my life when I’m the only Asian in a room full of white people.” Participating in the Fulbright ETA Program equipped me with a global perspective and sensitivity to issues of language, culture, and race which affect how I approach my daily life and work as a Lutheran pastor today. I believe that I am a better learner, listener, and leader, more capable of empathy and viewing situations from the perspectives of others, because of this program. Korea is a land full of natural beauty, rich in culture and history, and home to an honorable and passionate people. I remain grateful for all of my experiences as a Fulbright ETA, but it was the opportunity to be a foreigner for a year that has most profoundly impacted my life.

Excerpt from 20 Years of Teaching & Learning. Seoul: Korea-American Educational Commission, 2012, pp. 40-41

Kaliq Simms
1996 ETA Program

The memories of my time on Jeju have appeared to me in flashes over the past decade and a half. A sea of students in identical blue blazers and blunt haircuts standing and bowing ceremonially upon my entering the classroom each day, “annyeong hasaeyo, Hunter seon-saeng-nim!” they would chant. The ever-open classroom windows let in snowflakes, ocean breezes, or sunshine depending on the season. Jeju Seo Middle School would teach me the wonders of the open air school. My students waving a colorful farewell banner, “saranghaeyo!” would blanket me forever with their vitality, a stark contrast to the island’s relentless calm. These images come to me from time to time, rediscovered pictures in an old album. I felt as if I were on location in a movie for most of my year in South Korea. The scene opens on a tall, clear-eyed, Black American tourist, her hair in dozens of sturdy braids. By all accounts, I was a spectacle. We, the Fulbright ETAs of 1996, all were a sight to see in what was then a culturally homogeneous country—give or take a few thousand oddly inconspicuous U.S. military solidiers. On the congested Seoul streets with their pungent aromas of smoked squid and fermenting cabbage, every one of my senses simultaneously experienced unfamiliar stimuli. The effect was heady, out of body. Was I really there? I’m not sure which was the greater motivator: the longing to leave the U.S. or the draw of living and teaching abroad. Having attending a Historically Black College, Morgan State University in my hometown of Baltimore, Maryland, the last place I ever thought I would wind up was South Korea. I was an English and Secondary Education double major preparing to teach English in Baltimore City’s public school system. The late Dr. Sandye McIntyre, a legendary Morgan professor of modern languages encouraged me to apply for the Fulbright ETA Program. I believe his guidance single-handedly won me the coveted fellowship. I will never forget the visit of my mother and grandmother to Jeju-do. How my students marveled that their teacher actually had a family. Apparently, to students worldwide there is nothing more foreign than the teacher! In addition, I understood that perhaps what was equally intriguing was to meet in person two more African-Americans. For the vast majority of the five hundred students in my ten sections of English that year, I had been the first Black person they had ever known. Now, they had met three generations of one family. My grandmother was ninety when she made the trip. My family’s visit threw into sharp relief the purpose of my ETA year in a way I had not expected. The students were to sketch portraits of my mother and grandmother and to write, first person descriptions of each woman. The finished projects appeared as cartoonish brown faces framed by flat wooden sentences. Initially, I was disappointed by the lack of detail in the drawings by students I knew to be good artists. Likewise, the simplicity of the captions called me to question whether I had taught any English that year. It was not until the next day, when the students presented their posters and read aloud their sentences that I realized the deeper significance of my assignment. As each student read, I found that if I closed my eyes, my pre-teen Korean students, my family, and I became one voice: “I am a grandmother.” “I am American.” “I am a Black woman.” “I am a mother.”

Excerpt from 20 Years of Teaching & Learning. Seoul: Korea-American Educational Commission, 2012, pp. 34-35