Playing the High School Squid Game: How the Dystopian Thriller Mirrors Student Competition

Life is a game.

At least, it is for a high school senior.

“It is with great pleasure that I inform you of your acceptance to the Nonfiction and Rhetoric program at the Spark University.”

With college applications open since August, students across the world have been holding their breath in hopes of seeing this sentence. The question is how they are to win this. Science olympiad medals, debate competitions, and music concerts are a few cards on the table. Like any card game, you could upscale these cards into ones such as curing cancer or being President of the Presidents Club. Who collects the best cards end up with the VIP seats in the college admission system.

Hundreds of fictional contestants have also been playing a game of their own. When I heard of Squid Game, it appeared as detached from reality as possible. One of the most streamed shows in history, the Korean thriller revolves around debtors lured onto an island to play traditional Korean children games. The reward? 45.6 billion won for the last player standing. The consequence of losing? Death.

But as I watched player after player succumb to the games, I started to see students at my school as these contestants. The show’s first game, “Red Light, Green Light”, involves players trying to cross a finish line without being detected by a doll’s sensors. Players soon end up pushing those in front of them, leading to the demise of others and increasing their own prize money. 

Here at school, things are not too different. 

Want to fight for club leadership positions? Solution: badmouth your competitor’s integrity behind their backs to win more votes. After all, according to club rules, members should choose candidates based on merit.

Want to earn the highest rating in your debate team? Solution: bribe your opponents with homework answers in return for their plan of argument. Then, leave the rest of your “teammates” in the ditches as you take the honorable spotlight.

Want to finish your group project with the highest grade? Solution: wait for your groupmate to finish their work without helping them. When they are not watching, copy their ideas onto your section, delete their work, then gain sympathy from the teacher for having irresponsible groupmates.

These were only a few of the acts I witnessed in the classroom.

Four years after its first release, Squid Game continues to mirror the ruthless competition at my school. Students become players pitted against each other. Cookie carving challenges are replaced with competitions for gold medals. Death is replaced with not getting into your dream school. Even Hwang Dong-hyuk, the creator and director of Squid Game, said it himself: the show drew inspiration from the cutthroat competition for top colleges in South Korea.

But as much as the students at my school step over each other, they are also the ones with the greatest dreams. Become the U.S. President and help the working class. Invent a sensory machine for the visually impaired. Bring international attention to conserving our environment. For many students, getting into their dream university is the step needed to realize their dreams, and if that means being ruthless to others, then so be it.

Squid Game offers parallels to the hopes of my classmates. Seong Gi-hun, the main protagonist, joins the games in hopes of providing for his daughter and reclaiming his role as father. Ali Abdul, a Pakistani immigrant, joins the games in hopes of escaping exploitation by his employer and rescuing his family from poverty. Squid Game players still end up stabbing each other to death. But for many, this is just a tradeoff for helping other people in their own lives. The sacrifice of others, be it a contestant or student, is just a cost of the larger pursuit of many players’s hopes. 

The prospect of winning 45.6 billion dollars or getting into your dream university seems far too alluring to not chase for. But Squid Game shows us that the power of hope is not all sunshine and rainbows. With limited resources, some must be left out. Eliminated. We reveal our worst natures to each other when our hopes burn brightest. 

Especially in the classroom.

We may have gone too far down the conquest for colleges to end our Squid Game. The best thing we can do now is to make the playing field more fair. If everyone’s playing the cookie carving challenge, everyone should receive an equally difficult cookie. The three beautiful B’s— badmouthing, bribing, and betrayal—need to be off the table.

Though we will have to face the fact: somebody’s cookie will have to crack.