Birth tourism, or “wonjeong chulsan” as it is called in South Korea, literally meaning “birth away from home,” has recently garnered attention following U.S. GOP presidential candidate Jeb Bush’s remarks on Asian “anchor babies.”

His comments, aimed apparently to placate Hispanic voters at the sacrifice of the smaller pool of Asian-American voters, naturally stoked vilification against his politically-charged, xenophobic slant.

But Bush’s comment reminded Korea -- a source of thousands of anchor baby parents every year -- it is a bone of contention worth scrutiny, albeit for very different reasons.

Wonjeong chulsan here indeed is a source of belying sentiments. It is a source of desperate envy, but is also used as an excuse to attack the parents.

In the 1970s, having babies abroad was not a completely foreign idea. As Korea began industrializing and more companies advanced overseas, they sent their employees and their spouses to different corners of the globe. While having a baby in a foreign country then was considered rather intimidating, by two decades later in the early 1990s the phenomenon was seen as a privilege enjoyed by the well off. Increasing numbers of well-paid professionals such as doctors, lawyers and entertainers chose to have their babies overseas, especially in the U.S. -- the friendly “land of opportunity” and one of the few countries that provides birthright citizenship.

In the 2000s, the trend became more common among the middle-class. Quick-minded Korean businesspeople set up agencies to help prospective parents deal with the hassle that comes with having babies abroad -- plane tickets, the immigration process, accommodations and even sightseeing. Internet websites were dedicated to giving tips to parents of how to successfully have a child in the U.S. without getting caught.

They were not refugees or immigrants, but moderately well-off Koreans simply going after that second passport for their kids.

It is quite irrational, when simply looking at Korea as a whole -- a developed country that has become the world’s 11th-largest economy with a democratic system and that has the world’s highest rate of enrollment in tertiary education.

A friend, who had her baby girl while her husband was studying at Cornell University in New York, said whenever she would tell someone that her daughter was born in the States (thereby having dual citizenship), 90 percent of the responses she would get was, “Oh, that’s a shame. It is such a waste.”

They were referring to the “uselessness” of her daughter’s U.S. citizenship, as she would not need it to dodge the military service required of Korean men.

Giving sons an option not to fulfill their mandatory military service has been one of the most popular reasons for birth tourism. While life in South Korea may be comfortable, the North Korea factor and the lurking possibility of a military collision still made dual citizenship a legal and psychological haven.

A less serious, if not more desperate, driver behind dual citizenships has been South Korea’s notorious education hierarchy.

Having the option to study abroad, with better financial leeway, is indeed an opportunity too tempting to pass up for many parents, whose kids would otherwise be stuck in crowded competition back home.

Such a desire is considered a major impetus behind middle- and lower-income families craning their necks to have their children abroad, or become “goose fathers,” by sending their children off to study overseas while staying in Korea to wire them money.

The association for children with anything international -- be it their parents’ citizenships, their relatives overseas, their experiences abroad or even where their summer vacation was spent -- fast became the perceptual barometer for how successful the child can be, as Koreans sought “globalization” for their next generation.

As wonjeong chulsan evolved into a social dilemma, the laws were revised in 2005 to disallow men aged 18 and over who were born overseas without their parents residing there long-term from rescinding their Korean citizenship without serving in the military.

Korea’s infatuation toward having their children grow up as “potential” U.S. citizens may stem from the way Koreans raise their offspring -- hands-on and controlled. They feel that it is their duty to prepare every foundation upon which their children can step up, unlike the Western idea of parents’ role being to help the child become as independent as possible.

But as any trend goes, more people also appear to wonder whether the merits of wonjeong chulsan may have been overhyped.

A mother of two, who had her children overseas, said during a casual discussion recently that while she does not regret her choice, she does wonder whether it is all worth it.

She pointed out that while she had her children overseas to improve their education opportunities later in life, in reality, there are only limited choices that such citizenship offers despite its hefty price tag. “So what if they went to a U.S. university?” She asked.

As the number of young people with foreign diplomas grows, overseas degrees are losing their perception as a sure ticket to success in Korea.

It may be high time that Korea no longer is associated with the anomaly, not just for sake of our Korean natives abroad (undeservingly putting up with the humiliation), but also for the sake of our social dignity.

By Lee Joo-hee

Lee Joo-hee is the national desk editor of The Korea Herald. She can be reached at jhl@heraldcorp.com. -- Ed.