Preface: A Rigid System
Education in its most basic form is the passing down of knowledge from one generation to another. Yet, when students think of studying, they think of thick, superfluous textbooks with shrunken-down lettering, unrecognisable scientific jargon, and most importantly, the academically-rigorous “goal” of studying: exams. When people associate the concept of education with the score they received on an exam paper, it causes the real goal of education to be lost. This then influences the strong belief that the best form of “studying” is solving and reviewing past year questions.
Education evolved into a tight and rigid system. Students study a certain syllabus for a certain period of time, all of which builds up to a major exam officiated by an outside and external party, also known as a board exam. The main examples of such exams are our Sijil Pelajaran Malaysia (SPM) exams, the English A-Levels, and the French Baccalaureat. However, when students sit for these exams, they are usually mature and academically competent candidates. They understand the importance and are able to handle the weight of these hurdles placed in front of them, but the same cannot be said for children.
Recently, our government reinstated exams for students in Secondary 3 and established a new exam for students in Primary 4. They test the core concepts of language, humanities, and sciences. In the eyes of the government, it is reinstating the standard of our education, after feedback from some parents that the system has devolved into one with less rigour, and thus a decreased emphasis on studying.
However, for the student, reinstating exams on such short notice, as well as new policies such as making the study of Malay and History mandatory for all students not studying the Malaysian syllabus, only serve to further stress and demoralise the already burnt-out student. Students are only given a period of a year to study these subjects up to the specification laid out, as exams start in 2027.
These choices may seem like common sense. More exams mean a more rigorous and successful education system. But in the eyes of the stressed-out student, stacking more and more items on their plate might shatter the last visions of an outside life they have.
In other countries, their method of examinations has only caused further harm to students, from worsening their mental health to pushing students to deprive themselves of sleep, just to obtain more time.
We need to seriously reconsider what “education” is really about.
Chapter 1: “Kiasu-ism”
Peering across the Johore Strait, we see our neighbour – Singapore. Singapore is a developed nation, world-renowned for producing some of the smartest and brightest talents of our future. Their education system is said to be world-class, and their syllabus is widely desired by the world. In Singapore, students sit a major exam to signify the conclusion of a period in their education. These exams are the Primary School Leaving Exam (PSLE), the O-Levels, and most importantly, the A-Levels. With so many critical exams in crucial developmental periods, students in Singapore are hurriedly introduced to the “kiasu” culture of studying early on.
But what is “kiasu”?
“Kiasu” stems from the Hokkien dialect of Chinese. “Kia” means fear, while “su” means loss. The literal translation of “kiasu” is the fear of losing. In such a cut-throat and rigid meritocracy, the fear of falling behind your peers is not embedded in students, but their parents. Parents play a tremendous part in the Singaporean education system. A successful education does not begin with the first day of schooling, instead it begins with proper preparation.
“In terms of network, there’s a strong generational advantage to brand-name primary school. For starters, only the better-off can afford to move locations for brand-name schools. There’s also a stacking effect of alumni of better social class going back to brand-name schools.”
“This usually means that the students themselves will disproportionately come from better family backgrounds, which in turn affect their expectations and grades. This accumulates into better outcomes for them in secondary school and beyond, while the teachers also have more bandwidth than to support students who come from poorer backgrounds and may struggle academically.” [1]
In Singapore, primary schools are deemed equal by the government, providing equal funding and opportunities for all of them. However, there are certain “brand-name” primary schools, renowned for their consistent record of academic success. The overall consensus of parents is that, to ensure that their child receives a good secondary education, they must first reallocate and attend a prestigious primary school.
Primary schools are allocated based on proximity, while secondary schools and Junior Colleges are distributed by academic merit. As such, primary schools are the easiest advantage given to a child, as regardless of their knowledge, all children within a certain distance away are guaranteed admission.
As such, parents (especially the wealthy) will plan a move to a new address 30 months earlier, to ensure that they qualify for admission to their desired primary school. Additionally, in these schools, there is great academic pressure for the students, pitting them against one another to see who scores the highest on any classroom test. The importance of good academics is instilled in every Singaporean child, as a good PSLE result means admission to an even better secondary school, which in turn produces a good O-Level score, and this cycle repeats all the way until admission to university.
(an image of a Singaporean PSLE certificate, courtesy of Channel News Asia)
Some students feel that normal schooling is not enough for them, causing parents to turn their attention towards private tuition. In Singapore, roughly 8 out of 10 primary school students attend private tuition, where 80% of parents view external tuition as a method to improve test results. Private tuition is considered by some to be an investment in their child’s future. By footing the bill, their child can remain more competitive.
In a world where parents see the attendance of prestigious universities synonymous with success, it only further incentivises students to remain competitive. Competition among students only further adds to the daunting stress of a “make it or break it” exam, like the O-Levels and the A-Levels.
Yet this is all too normal for students in Asian educational systems. Singapore is not the only region in which this “toxic” form of education occurs, and other Asian education systems have this systemic issue present.
By shifting our gaze across the South China Sea, we see a global superpower – China. China is also another academically dominant region. Their education system revolves around their secondary school leaving exam, the Gaokao.
The Gaokao is given the prestige as the “great equaliser” where students are given the same test, at the same time, no matter their background. The candidate from the rural village and the candidate from the wealthiest family in China both face the same daunting challenge. This is viewed positively by candidates from the rural farming villages in China. Some of these villages throw elaborate parties and burn incense to bless the candidates before their exams. Even though the village leaders have good intentions, students feel extra pressure, as the whole village is counting on them to make a good name for themselves.
As Chinese university admission is one of, if not the most competitive in the world, an extraordinary emphasis on the Gaokao is placed. Additionally, in China, grades on the Gaokao are the only means of admission, instead of the holistic admissions process seen in the West. When graduation from a prestigious university all but guarantees success and wealth, candidates who hail from poorer regions work exceptionally hard, seeing it as a way to alleviate their poverty.
The noble intention to balance the playing field with the Gaokao is a righteous one, yet there are still parents finding ways to get an advantage. One of them is placing students in Gaokao preparation schools. These schools operate like prisons, with strict schedules and sleep deprivation being the norm. One of them has a reputation for being the School from Hell.
Welcome to Maotanchang.
[1]: via a Reddit comment on a thread related to the topic
Chapter 2: The School from Hell
“Days after learning he failed the gaokao, Cao left their home village to search for migrant work in China’s glittering coastal cities. He would end up on a construction site, just like his father.”
When the future success of a student is based only on Gaokao results, it only serves to incentivise studying for the test. As such, several schools have catered to this new “genre” of education, and the prime example for most media outlets to analyse is the Maotanchang High School located in the Chinese province of Anhui.
Initially, after the Great Leap Forward, rural-to-urban migration was common, and rural schools such as Maotanchang were forced to face the brunt of this sudden migration. Ageing infrastructure, accompanied by less experienced teachers, meant that the class divide between the rich schools in city centres like Beijing and Shanghai and the poor schools like Maotanchang was getting worse. Additionally, quotas in Chinese university admissions meant that students from poorer backgrounds were even more disadvantaged compared to their richer counterparts.
In the shadow of this issue, Maotanchang started to serve the local community, first by organising after-school tuition for a cheap fee. However, when the Chinese government barred public schools from establishing after-school courses, the school administration decided to go all in. They converted their curriculum into an intense crash-course, cramming the syllabus into students, while also establishing a private, for-profit extension to the school.
(an image of a bus filled with Gaokao candidates leaving the Maotanchang High School, surrounded by family, courtesy of CGTN)
Maotanchang now welcomed the retake students, high-school graduates who felt that their Gaokao score was too low for a successful future. This new extension to the school was the real money maker. The lower the Gaokao score, the higher the fee to attend Maotanchang.
Enter Cao Yingsheng, a student in Maotanchang preparing for his Gaokao exam. His fees per semester in Maotanchang was $2000, which is substantially higher than other students as he had unsatisfactory results, while the average salary for an adult in his region is $15000. Cao’s mother always reminded him to study hard, so that his father’s sacrifice of manual labour, in order to cover the fees, would be worth it.
Deep down, Cao already knew of his fate if he underperformed on the Gaokao: “Dagong” – manual labour.
Staying in a room with the price of an apartment in downtown Beijing, whilst having the size of a coffin, barely enough space to place a desk and bed, Cao faces an onslaught of pressure. The continuous reminders of his father’s arduous workdays and sacrifice, accompanied by the military-like coaching of teachers. From studying at the crack of dawn at 6.20am, to arriving back at his room at 10.50pm, Cao is living in a nightmare, one faced by every student in the school from hell.
The Maotanchang timetable also emphasises the concept of no breaks. Students only get three hours of family visitation time on Sunday, but only after completing their set of mock exams. Additionally, students only get two 30-minute breaks for eating, and an hour to unwind, before going to sleep and restarting this wretched cycle. The extreme stress, coupled with devastating social isolation and crippling financial worry (especially for retake students), further deteriorates the mental health of students. This leads to an increase in teenage suicide, prominent in the months before Gaokao.
In Maotanchang, not only do students suffer, but teachers do too. The base pay at Maotanchang is almost three-times above the average, making careers in Maotanchang highly valued. However, the school administration only allows young, single, male teachers to take up positions, as they believe that the intensity of the career is unsuitable for females. For teachers, a 17-hour workday is expected, monitoring large classes of about 150 students. When teachers “underperform” – having the lowest cumulative test scores, which are posted in the staff lounge – they can expect to be fired. As such, teachers develop unique methods to ensure their students score high on tests, from corporal punishment to punishing parents under threat of expulsion.
For retake students, teachers frequently tell them to “always remember your failure”.
Of all of the students who survived Maotanchang, only one of them went to a prestigious university, Tsinghua University. By scoring an amazing 643 points out of a possible (but never achieved) 750 points. The Anhui regional cutoff was 641 points, making the student, Xu Peng, an overnight celebrity. His room, his story, his name, forever preserved in Maotanchang.
(an image of Xu Peng at Tsinghua University, courtesy of the New York Times)
All of the struggle in Maotanchang only guarantees placement in a second-tier university, while established first-tier universities are still hard to attend, no matter the sacrifice. Thus, is the sacrifice and torture in Maotanchang worth it, when a majority of students only get into second-rate universities?
For Cao, during the Gaokao, he faced severe panic attacks while writing his exam. It caused his Gaokao score to tank, resulting in his dream of becoming an English teacher to be dashed away. Cao’s mother spent years by his side, aiding and supporting his studies. Cao’s father worked 12-hour days of manual labour, 50 weeks a year, building high-rises to pay the fees. Yet, Cao’s future looked bleak.
All of the sacrifices everyone made went down the drain. Another year at Maotanchang? Even more expensive due to his status as a retake student, and Cao had already endured enough suffering.
Cao’s future? Following his father’s footsteps of doing manual labour, hoping that Cao’s future child could succeed well in the Gaokao, so that the child would need not suffer the same fate as Cao, and Cao’s father.
“Dagong” – manual labour.
Chapter 3: A Holistic Education
On the other spectrum of education, there is the concept of a holistic education. The holistic model of education is more prominently displayed in Western countries, with an established background in the United States of America. When a holistic education is mentioned, it typically refers to one where memorising textbooks is the secondary objective, while the primary objective is the development of the student.
This development can take many forms. Mainly, it is the prioritisation of sports, critical thinking, curiosity-driven learning, emotional intelligence, and many more. When successfully implemented, holistic-based learning can definitely produce the most intellectual students, whose intelligence is not rooted in memorising facts.
Like everything in this world, there are negatives with this system. The growing emphasis on a “complete” student severely disadvantages numerous categories of students.
In Asia, students are primarily ranked by classroom performance, when grades mean more than individuals. This does not translate well with Western approaches. When an Asian student applies to a Western university, like those in the UK and the USA, they are forced to compete with students whose whole education was shaped to be holistic, instead of by the book.
For prestigious Western universities, the most important factor is the individual. They want to know what makes the person unique, while the Asian education system erases their individuality, in exchange for higher test marks. This stark contrast in how education is seen across the meridian only serves to further isolate students in their respective regions. An Asian student applying to universities like Harvard only presents flawless grades and Olympiad performances. Meanwhile, the Western student shows leadership and character by founding clubs, partaking in community service, and captaining sports teams, all while maintaining good grades.
The Western student is more well-rounded, developing a unique character, at the cost of time. By committing themselves to so many activities, Western students have to spread their time well. This does improve time management skills, but usually it manifests as a reduction in rest and the prioritisation of the “grind” culture. The additional pressure to be unique, to do everything at once, to be yourself, wears down and chews on the mental health of students.
(an image of Harvard College, with a variety of students and parents in frame)
For the financially disadvantaged student, the cost of holistically developing their character is an additional burden for their breadwinner. Even though bursaries exist, demonstrated by free school meals, reduced exam fees, and increased scholarship opportunities, the already financially constrained student may not be able to fully invest themselves in the activities they enjoy. Sports require equipment, competitions require entry fees, research requires funding, community service requires transportation, and libraries require a fee.
When students are either unable to or do not possess the money to express their interests, they are instantly looked down upon by the holistic education system. As such, the inclusivity and diversity promised by holistic education only serve to divide and weed out those who come from different upbringings.
Now, with the increasing competition for slots in higher education, there is a new market for admissions counselling. This only serves to invalidate the purpose of a holistic education, which involves students exploring their interests, and fostering their love of learning from it. Students, especially of wealthy backgrounds, would already have an admissions counselor guiding them on which hobbies to choose, which research programs to join, which sports to partake in, which clubs to lead. This would further disenfranchise the students from a poorer background, as wealthier students would be tailored to their course and the needs of a student that the university wants. When hobbies are tailored just for admissions, are they really hobbies?
As such, both models of education are still unable to cater to a full global audience. Thus, we need to consider: what mode of education works for us?
Conclusion: How About Us?
“The SBP was established to provide a planned, controlled, and conducive learning environment to develop outstanding students towards producing high-quality individuals.”
“SBP diwujudkan bagi menyediakan suasana persekolahan yang terancang, terkawal dan kondusif bagi mengembangkan potensi murid yang cemerlang ke arah melahirkan modal insan berkualiti.”
Malaysia’s public school system exists as a hybrid of both systems, weaving a holistic education in between academically-rigid exams. Initially, the Malaysian primary school qualification (UPSR) and the lower-secondary qualification (PT3) were cancelled due to the Covid-19 pandemic in the year 2020. Afterwards, the government decided to abolish both exams, leaving the SPM as the only critical exam for students to sit for. This decision was met with mixed emotions.
For some, the abolishment of such exams signified a decreasing standard in Malaysian education, while others saw the abolishment as an opportunity to further promote the benefits of a holistic education rather than continuing on with the tradition of studying only for the test. The cancellation of the UPSR was primarily done after feedback from many parents and teachers to the Education Ministry.
The teachers described how the syllabus was rushed in order to focus on completing exam-style questions, while the parents harped on about the pressure they faced, sending students to tuition classes as early as Primary One. Overall, the initial decision to scrap the exam was a smart one. Young children should not have to face the mounting pressure of preparing for a make it or break it exam, while starting puberty and facing hormonal changes. Yet, the government still did not let go of exams. Instead of a board exam, the government introduced Classroom Assessments (Pentaksiran Bilik Darjah).
Students today are still faced with the stress of examinations, albeit less intense than before. Some schools still put high weightage on the new assessment, treating it as a UPSR replacement, completely disregarding its initial purpose to reduce the strain on the mental health of students. Additionally, the government also introduced the Student Entrance Exam to Special Schools (Pentaksiran Kemasukan Murid ke Sekolah Khusus). It served as an entrance exam for students to begin Secondary 4 in an SBP (Sekolah Berasrama Penuh).
The SBP system is a boarding school system established by the government to foster academic excellence. Entrance into the school system is highly competitive, with Secondary 1 students needing to prove their academic excellence, while showing prowess in extracurricular activities, and Secondary 3 students needing a minimum of 6As from school exams, while possessing a sufficient entrance exam score.
(an image of the boarding school SBPI Rawang, a member of the SBP system)
As such, due to the competitive nature of admissions, the stress faced by students in an SBP is several times higher than that of a normal high-school student. Everyone in the school is already academically inclined and excellent in extracurricular activities. The students in the SBP program are the cream of the crop, and as such are expected to score high on the SPM exams, leading to a high-stakes environment.
However, the recent decision to introduce a new exam to students in Primary 4 proves flawed. This only encourages parents to yet again send their children to tuition to train for the test, which minimises free time for the child to explore their interests and enjoy their short childhood. By setting the exam date two years earlier than before, even younger students will be pressured by their parents and their peers to succeed in the exams. As such, the fragile mental health of children would be further damaged, leading to a decreased mental state throughout their teenage years, and maybe even the rest of their lives.
Yet, the formal reintroduction of the PT3 exam is not as polarising. This is due to secondary school students being well adept in handling examinations compared to primary school students, and there are formal exams in secondary schools too, compared to Classroom Assessments in primary. With that being said, secondary school students already know that there is a major exam ahead, being SPM, so they already feel prepared to face the exam’s younger sibling.
Finally, there’s a mandate for all students, no matter which school they attend, to sit for SPM Malay and History. The difficulty of Malay examined in SPM is considered as a First Language. This difficulty will definitely clash with the First Language English routinely taken by IGCSE candidates, as well as First Language Chinese by UEC candidates. Forcing students to take two first languages in this instance will further put pressure on those students. Additionally, the choice to diverge from the government’s Malay paved path shows a certain inherent weakness in Malay for the students. As such, forcing the student whose Malay language skills were not sharp enough for Malay-based education to take it as a First Language is inconsiderate at best, a lambastable situation at worst.
In the end, when exams impede personal growth, when fear takes hold in the exam hall, when stress creeps into the minds of every student, we need to step back and see what our modern education system has become. Either students are stuck memorising textbooks, or spending their time doing 1001 different activities. As the wise Confucius once said:
“Roads were made for journeys, not destinations.”
Written By: Dylan
Edited By: Sherman
