Forgotten Sacrifice, Overshadowed by Prestige: Korean Higher Education at 80 Years of Liberation

The 80th anniversary of Korea’s liberation from Japanese colonial rule invites reflection on the many ways the nation has rebuilt itself. Among the institutions that symbolize this rebirth, Inha University occupies a unique place. Founded in 1954 with the support of Korean immigrants in Hawaii, Inha represents one of the earliest acts of transnational solidarity in modern Korean history. The name itself, "Incheon + Hawaii", embodies this legacy. For the diaspora who had left their homeland in the early 20th century to work on Hawaiian plantations, establishing a university in war-ravaged Korea was an act of patriotism and gratitude.

Yet today, despite this extraordinary history, Inha University is often undervalued in South Korea’s higher education landscape. It is not because of a lack of contribution. Inha has trained generations of engineers, scientists, and business leaders who advanced Korea’s modernization. The problem lies in a society where entrenched hierarchies of prestige reduce universities to their rank. This essay argues that South Korea’s fixation on academic prestige diminishes recognition of Inha’s unique origins and erases legacies of sacrifice, solidarity, and nation-building that such institutions embody.

Inha’s Hawaiian Origins: Education as a Gift of Liberation

The story of Inha begins with Korea’s first large-scale immigrants to the United States. In 1903, 102 Koreans were recruited to Hawaii as laborers. Several thousands of people followed them until 1905. Their lives were marked by hardship, racial discrimination, and separation from their homeland. Yet these communities maintained fierce loyalty to Korea, sending remittances, funding independence movements, and representing their country with dignity in the Pacific.

After liberation in 1945 and the devastation of the Korean War, these immigrants again turned toward their homeland. Pooling resources, they sought to establish a technical institute in Incheon. The Korean community in Hawaii “helped build Inha” as a way to contribute to Korea’s recovery. 

Inha Institute of Technology opened in 1954, commemorating the 50th anniversary of Korean immigration to Hawaii. It was intended as Korea’s MIT. For the diaspora, education was liberation. Their priority was to ensure future generations would never be powerless again. Inha’s founding is not only the story of an academic institution but also of transnational sacrifice and national rebirth.

Prestige as the Invisible Hand of Recognition

Despite this remarkable origin, Inha’s history is seldom celebrated in the public consciousness. In Korean society, the reputation of a university is determined less by its founding story or mission than by its place in a rigid hierarchy of prestige.

A small group of elite universities dominate this system, serving as gatekeepers to high-paying jobs, government posts, and influential social networks. Employers continue to screen resumes by alma mater, parents invest fortunes in cram schools to secure admission into top universities, and students who fall short often feel branded as less capable.

The hierarchy has tangible effects. Studies show that graduates from top-ranked universities earn higher salaries and enjoy greater career stability than those from lower-ranked institutions. University rank strongly correlates with employment outcomes, lifetime income, and even marriage prospects. In such a system, history and mission are often irrelevant. What matters is rank. 

An Anecdote of Internalized Hierarchy

I recall my former colleagues, Inha University graduates, who embodied this tension. They were competent, intelligent, and well regarded in their fields. Yet they frequently disparaged their own alma mater. One expressed regret that he had not gone to Seoul National University, justifying his path as a product of financial constraints. For him, the name “Inha” carried a sense of insufficiency or even disgrace, a stigma of being lower on the educational food chain.

What struck me was not only his regret but the depth of internalized hierarchy. Here was a graduate of a university founded through diasporic sacrifice, tied to liberation and nation-building, yet his identity was dominated by what Inha was not. The prestige hierarchy erased pride in Inha’s unique origins. His experience is far from unusual. Many Koreans measure the value of their education not by substance but by symbolic capital in the hierarchy. In doing so, they unwittingly undermine institutions, whose founding stories deserve recognition.

Reclaiming the Value of Diverse Histories

The 80th anniversary of liberation reminds us that freedom was sustained not only by politics but by communities investing in education. For this legacy to matter, Korean society must confront entrenched academic hierarchies. Recognition cannot rest with a few elite universities. Schools like Inha should be valued for their contributions to modernization and their unique origins. Its global initiatives, including Inha University in Tashkent, show how its technical expertise continues to shape education beyond Korea.

Here policymakers, university leaders, and the broader education community have a critical role. Policies and public messaging should highlight the deep and diverse histories of Korean universities, beyond the narrow prestige hierarchy. University leadership must do more to foreground their schools’ unique missions and legacies. Faculty, students, parents, and alumni should recognize the significance of their institutions, take pride in their schools’ impact, and resist the temptation to measure worth solely by comparative ranking. 

Conclusion: Toward a Broader Understanding of Value

The story of Inha University mirrors Korea’s own modern history: displacement, resilience, and nation-building. Founded by immigrants who had left Korea in its darkest hours, Inha was a gift to a liberated but fragile nation. It was intended not as a brand in a prestige market but as a tool of empowerment and recovery. Eighty years after liberation, however, the hierarchies of Korean higher education obscure such stories. Alumni measure themselves by what their schools are not, rather than what they are. Society overlooks sacrifice and contribution in favor of rankings. This pattern diminishes not only Inha but also the broader landscape of Korean higher education, where each institution carries a unique mission and history.

To commemorate liberation with integrity, Koreans must broaden their definition of educational values. Liberation was not achieved by elites alone, and it should not be remembered only by elite institutions. It was sustained by communities who believed education could secure freedom. True prestige lies not in rank but in contribution. Recognizing the diverse legacies of all universities is not only historical justice but also a challenge to the hierarchies that continue to distort how education is valued in Korea today.