While reporting, there are realities that cannot be fully conveyed in news broadcasts. As a reporter, I often feel that including certain details would expose the bare reality, but I cannot risk causing harm to those who agreed to be interviewed under difficult circumstances. This is especially true for television broadcasts, where the minimal exposure of an interviewee's identity—such as their voice or face—is practically unavoidable.

I frequently encountered this dilemma while reporting on the "Special School Admissions War." In a desperate search for a glimmer of hope for their children—who require special education due to various disabilities or developmental delays—parents gave up the communities they had built their lives in, and some even broke up their households. In this process, some resorted to illegal or expedient means. There were many cases that I considered but ultimately set aside. Yet, this was clearly a reality that needed to be known. I share these behind-the-scenes reporting notes on the "Special School Admissions War," which could not be shown on air. All subjects and tipsters are kept anonymous, and any identifying information has been excluded as much as possible. (▶ Related Article: [News Story] Their Own Admissions War: Mencius' Mother-Style Relocations for Special Schools)

  This incident occurred at a special education school outside the capital region. In this district, the primary—and virtually absolute—criterion for assigning students to special schools was "proximity placement." Living closer to the school gives an applicant an advantage. In one instance, multiple children who applied were registered to the same multi-family residential building. Families had moved to the same building just to gain admission. Parent A's child also succeeded in securing admission through this relocation process. However, being assigned to a special school was not the end of the journey. An on-site inspection is conducted prior to admission to verify whether the family actually lives at the registered address.

When the inspection team arrived at the address, Person A's family did not live there. It was a "fake address registration," where only the official residency paperwork was transferred. In the end, Person A's child had their special school admission canceled and had to enroll in a regular school. Why did Person A rush to move their address again before the on-site inspection was even completed? Person A had another child who also needed to enter a different school. To meet the admission criteria for that school, the address had to be transferred once more. Consequently, Person A became a failed "Mencius' mother." While registering a false address is undeniably wrong, this might never have happened if a special school had been available where the family originally lived. The region where Person A lived is well known for its severe shortage of special schools relative to the city's size.
  Person B, who lives in the Seoul metropolitan area, moved early to prepare for their child's special school admission. With elementary school entry coming up next year, Person B submitted the application not long ago. Having relocated near the school in advance, there should be no issue under the "proximity placement" rule. Yet, Person B is weighed down by deep worries. This is because Person B heard that one of the applicants to the same school comes from a "single-parent household." Hearing this was puzzling. In the manual for selecting and assigning special education recipients distributed nationwide by the National Institute of Special Education, as well as throughout our reporting at local education offices and special education support centers, no information was found stating that single-parent status was used as a selection criterion. When asked for more details, Person B explained: "Up until a few years ago, there was a clause giving priority to single-parent households. I heard they only removed the wording because there were too many fake divorces. But I was told that among the applicants to the same school this time, there is a family that underwent a paper divorce." When we checked with the local education office on Person B's behalf, officials confirmed that no such criterion exists. We conveyed this to Person B, but it failed to ease the anxiety. Person B said, "If we get rejected this time, I will have to think about whether to defer school enrollment and get a divorce, or move to another region altogether."

  The child of Person C, a resident of Seoul, attended a kindergarten program at a special school. By kindergarten age, the child was already officially registered as having a developmental disability and designated as a special education recipient. However, an incident occurred at that special school where a teacher abused a child with disabilities. With first grade approaching, Person C decided they could no longer entrust their child to that school. At that time, Person C had no idea that this decision would mark the beginning of an endless struggle to find a school for the child.

There was no special school in Person C's residential district that matched the child's type of disability. The nearest special school had only one first-grade class, with an admission quota of just six students. Children from four neighboring autonomous districts were competing for those spots. The child was ultimately rejected. Person C's child, who has severe autism spectrum disorder, was diagnosed at the time with anxiety levels 100 times higher than other children, along with significant self-harm and aggressive behavior toward others. "When I heard the news of the rejection from the special school, it felt like the sky was falling," Person C recalled.

The child was briefly placed in a special education classroom within a regular school, but dropped out after only ten days. "The assigned school was severely understaffed, with more children per teacher than the mandated limit. Before even ten days had passed, my child's anxiety surged dramatically. Individualized education was not properly implemented, nor was a safe learning environment guaranteed. At the time, the education the school provided to our child was simply 'not causing trouble for other children.'"

In this way, Person C's child had no choice but to be pushed out of public education. Person C has been homeschooling the child for three years now. Under current legal regulations, a child cannot simply be kept out of school entirely, so the child's name remains registered at a school without attending—effectively a student outside the regular quota. Person C said the homeschooling will continue at least until middle school. The failure to find a suitable school for the child has ultimately led to distrust in public education.

  From false address registrations to paper divorces based on unverified information, terms commonly seen in high-ranking public official confirmation hearings or illicit apartment lottery subscriptions now appear openly in the reality of special school admissions. Yet, this reality remains unimaginable to those who have not experienced it firsthand. For these parents, this is a life-altering pursuit driven by desperation, but the world has remained cold and indifferent. Parents experienced a society that only spared a fleeting glance when they wept, shaved their heads, and fell to their knees begging for special schools to be built—leaving them with no choice but to fight for survival on their own.

A special education recipient refers to a person diagnosed and evaluated as needing special education under any of the following categories: visual impairment, hearing impairment, intellectual disability, physical disability, emotional/behavioral disorder, autism, communication disorder, learning disability, health impairment, developmental delay, or multiple disabilities. (In other words, having a disability or developmental delay alone does not qualify a child; official diagnosis and evaluation are required.)

Once designated as a special education recipient, students can apply to special schools or special education classes in regular schools. Special schools provide education exclusively to special education recipients, whereas special classes in regular schools combine regular classes and special classes depending on the situation and need, as part of integrated education. Students may spend most of their time in regular classes and visit the special class only for specific subjects, or they may spend most of their day in the special class and join regular classes for certain hours. As of 2025, approximately 60% of all special education recipients attend special classes in regular schools, while 25.7% attend special schools. (About 16.2% are enrolled exclusively in regular classes.)

A mother of a child with autism spectrum disorder told the reporter that what hurts the most is hearing people say, "If you can't get into a special school, why not just go to a special class in a regular school?" She noted two reasons: not everyone can get into their desired regular school's special class, and some people view parents seeking special schools "as if they are making an unnecessary fuss." "I know people say it out of ignorance rather than malice, but every time it is said so casually, it hurts deeply. We are waging an admissions war in tears that nobody knows about."

  South Korea aims for inclusive education. Under the Act on Special Education for Persons with Disabilities, Etc., 'inclusive education' is defined as education where special education recipients receive an education suited to their individual educational needs alongside peers in regular schools, free from discrimination based on disability type or severity. It sounds commendable. But what is the reality? Kim Ki-ryong, a professor of secondary special education at Joongbu University, lamented, "Special classes may be called that, but in reality, they are islands within the school. They are completely segregated, stigmatized, and at times even subject to fostered aversion." He explained that while special classes have expanded as part of inclusive education, it remains merely "physical integration" without the necessary awareness coming first.

A mother raising a teenage middle-school daughter who has a relatively high IQ but clear autism spectrum disorder moved from the capital region to Gangwon-do in search of a special school. She told the reporter, "When my child goes to a regular school, she sits there like a bystander and only eats lunch. Sitting quietly without causing problems—that isn't inclusive education, is it?"

The current administration promised to build 20 special schools as a national policy agenda. From 2024 to the present, only one special school has been added nationwide. Seoul has 25 autonomous districts with 32 special schools, including private ones. While this may seem sufficient at a glance, eight of the 25 autonomous districts currently do not have a single special school. Even excluding the two districts where construction is underway, six districts still have no plans in place. Article 31 of the Constitution of the Republic of Korea states: 'All citizens shall have an equal right to receive an education corresponding to their abilities.' Are the parents and children encountered in this reporting truly enjoying the 'equal right to education' guaranteed by the Constitution?

I would like to take this opportunity to express my gratitude to the many families of special education recipients who participated in interviews. Some families initially requested anonymity but later agreed to be interviewed on the record, while other parents went as far as securing filming permissions at therapy centers and rehabilitation wards themselves. The reason they stepped forward with such dedication was singular: "Please make sure these facts appear on the news more often, so that more people become aware."

It was a desperation that deeply resonated in the heart.