When COVID-19 Shook the Overseas-Study Pipeline

Exchange students in limbo

From carefully planning an overseas education to leaving a foreign campus with a degree, hundreds of thousands of Chinese students move through each link in a long study-abroad chain. In early 2020, COVID-19 sent an earthquake through that chain. It stopped students from moving from one stage to the next, and the shock gradually travelled toward both ends. IELTS, TOEFL and GRE sessions were cancelled; universities around the world moved classes online; and some politicians inflamed racist sentiment against Chinese people. Prospective students encountered practical obstacles and a new layer of psychological strain.

On January 27, Ma Lin felt that she had broken into a cold sweat. Two alerts arrived almost back to back. The city government reported that a confirmed patient had travelled on the bus route she normally used—on that particular day, she had happened to take a taxi. Then came news that every IELTS session in mainland China scheduled for February had been cancelled. Ma was due to spend the second half of the year on exchange at a university in Central Europe, which required an IELTS score. Fortunately, she had taken the test the previous winter for a summer-school application. The result was not high, she said, but it was just enough. Looking back, she described the two alerts as two fatal bullets that had both narrowly missed.

Many of her classmates were not as fortunate. After the domestic outbreak began, China’s education examination authorities cancelled February IELTS and TOEFL sessions on January 27. Final-year students already waiting for admissions decisions were less affected because most had language scores in hand. For exchange students preparing to begin online applications, however, the cancellation was a potentially fatal interruption to what had previously been a fixed process. University-level selection for autumn 2020 exchanges had taken place near the end of term, when nominated students were busy with examinations. Many had planned to obtain a language score over the winter holiday and submit applications in March or April.

When February IELTS sessions disappeared, Fudan’s autumn 2020 exchange WeChat group suddenly became active. An international-office staff member reassured students that, based on past experience, a score obtained before April would usually arrive in time. But students discovered that every March test place in Shanghai was already gone. Soon IELTS and TOEFL also cancelled all mainland sessions in March and April. As outbreaks spread through neighbouring countries, travelling abroad simply to take a test became far less feasible.

A-Tu, a second-year student nominated for Sciences Po in Paris, said she had initially panicked because she could not obtain a language score. After checking with the international office, she learned that students could complete the application first and supply the score later. IELTS also said it would add computer-based places when testing resumed in mainland China. She decided to wait patiently and, if necessary, consider taking the test outside the mainland.

Wenjia, who planned to attend the University of California, remained uneasy. In late February, before the outbreak had spread internationally, the university said exchange applicants could wait until late May to provide scores. But events moved much faster than expected. She saw that June IELTS places had briefly appeared and assumed that better-informed applicants had already taken most of them. In her view, the University of California might have to revise its policy again because the June capacity could not possibly meet demand.

The international office said students unable to begin an exchange in autumn 2020 could defer until spring 2021, but postponement carried real costs. A-Yun, a third-year student who had planned to study in Germany in spring 2020, applied in early February to move his exchange to the autumn because he feared later restrictions on entry and exit. Germany’s visa procedures were already fragmented and time-consuming, and the APS review process was slow. He and his classmates had spent months almost completing the process; deferral meant starting over. Then, just after he postponed, Europe became the centre of the pandemic. Although German universities would not reopen until October, whether he could leave China remained impossible to know.

The anxiety of the graduating class

Exchange students could cancel or postpone and continue their domestic studies with relatively limited damage. For the class of 2020, already halfway through the overseas-study process, the disruption was more severe. Abandoning, pausing or continuing all demanded a consequential decision.

Cheng Ye, a final-year journalism student with a conditional offer from the University of Warwick, had been preparing applications since the previous March. She was still waiting to see whether she could enrol in October. Britain’s early discussion of herd immunity made her feel less safe. She understood that Chinese and British systems differed, but interpreted the remarks as evidence that the government lacked an effective response, strong coordination and sufficient medical resources. By 9 a.m. local time on April 3, the United Kingdom had reported more than 38,000 confirmed cases and 3,605 deaths. After the herd-immunity approach drew intense criticism, British measures tightened and universities including Warwick suspended in-person teaching.

Dongyan, a final-year mathematics student, was frightened by developments in the United States, especially New York, and considered postponing for a year. Politics made the decision harder. He worried that the pandemic would trigger racial discrimination, recalling reports of a Singaporean student attacked in Britain after being taken for Chinese and a friend who had been given the middle finger at a football match in Germany.

Prospective students were also worried about the courses they would actually receive. Cheng noted that a one-year British master’s programme might spend half a semester—or even half a year—online. Students would pay the full tuition without truly studying abroad, and the quality of the experience would inevitably suffer. It was an awkward prospect, she said, and one that concerned nearly everyone planning to leave China.

Many overseas universities adjusted admissions and management policies quickly. Cornell wrote to applicants about changes to offline activities, while British and American institutions stayed in contact with Chinese candidates. Cheng was especially impressed by University College London, which sent Chinese applicants a reassuring message that included Chinese-language text. Some American universities allowed incomplete applications with scores to follow. Harvard indicated that it would reduce the weight placed on GPA and standardised results and pay more attention to academic and social experience, seeking to limit the pandemic’s effect on admissions. Boston University waived GRE requirements for Chinese applicants. Cheng saw these measures as humane and flexible.

Most interviewees said that, although their parents worried about the global spread of the virus, they expected conditions to improve before the end of the year and continued to support their children’s choices. Even so, the shutdown of the study-abroad chain caused intense anxiety. Cheng said the greatest fear was failing to graduate on time. Online teaching had disrupted theses and examinations; without a diploma, students could not take up overseas offers. While she waited for further admissions results, she also had to decide whether to extend her degree.

April 15 was the deadline for requesting an extension. Students had to choose between stepping away from their graduating cohort or waiting for an uncertain chance to study abroad. Cheng added that students who had already completed their coursework might not even receive approval to extend. Some classmates had already postponed; others, including her, were still watching and waiting.

By April 3, confirmed cases worldwide had exceeded one million, the United States had nearly three times as many recorded infections as China, British prime minister Boris Johnson had tested positive, 166 countries and territories had introduced nationwide school closures, and 97 had imposed border measures. For would-be overseas students graduating in 2020, anxiety would soon have to harden into a decision as enrolment deadlines approached.

The class of 2021 watches and waits

The earthquake also reached students who had planned to begin overseas study in 2021. In a normal year, most would still be near the beginning of the chain: preparing for IELTS or TOEFL and for standardised examinations such as the GRE or GMAT, with perhaps one or two attempts already completed. The cancellation of all near-term tests was disruptive, but with formal applications still months away, it was not their only or even largest problem.

Ning Bei, a third-year student, said the pandemic affected much more than the period actually spent overseas. Many students used the summer after their third year for research experience that could strengthen an application. Those opportunities had become nearly impossible to pursue; he had neither applied nor known what to apply for.

The psychological impact was already visible. In a survey by Fudan People Weekly, more than half of respondents said their determination to study abroad had weakened. A New Oriental instructor said students with little preparation time were struggling as tests disappeared worldwide and opportunities to improve scores vanished. The predicament of students already overseas also made those just entering the pipeline more apprehensive.

Ning criticised the American response, arguing that Donald Trump had locked down too late and then redirected public opinion through racialised language such as ‘Chinese virus’. Parents had their own fears: children abroad were far from family, sometimes unable to stay in dormitories, forced to find housing, unable to return home and unable to obtain flights. Families in China could do little to help from such a distance.

Yet 38.1 per cent of survey respondents said their plans had not changed. Even as campuses closed, hostility toward Chinese people rose overseas and some returnees faced criticism at home, most students retained an optimistic expectation. Like Ning, they believed that by the time they were actually due to depart, the pandemic might be under control.

Inside and outside the chain: the role of agencies

A Shenwan Hongyuan estimate cited in the original article put China’s overseas-education market above RMB 300 trillion in 2018. Agencies had become major actors across the chain, offering planning, standardised-test training, résumé building, translation and application editing. Many students used an agency for several steps; some hired one to manage the entire process. But as overseas study expanded and information became easier to obtain, agencies were no longer treated as indispensable. More applicants preferred to complete the process themselves.

Ning saw agency fees largely as payment for an information gap. With access to overseas websites, he believed students could handle much of the process themselves and that an agency rarely transformed an outcome. Dongyan also questioned their value. Cheng’s view was more qualified: a student with enough time could apply independently, but language editing at critical stages was worth buying because a non-native applicant might not reach the level expected by a native reader. Translation and polishing, she thought, offered the best value.

Contrary to widespread assumptions, many overseas-education agencies had not yet been badly hit. New Oriental Shanghai said more than 600 of its clients had already received offers that year and more than 300 were still waiting, figures no worse than at the same point the year before. A staff member said demand, especially for language training, had changed little. Students with firm plans often began working with the company in their first year of university; for them, the immediate difference was simply that no tests were being held.

For the 2021 market, the crisis even created new demand. Overseas universities, worried about failing to fill places, might offer larger financial incentives to Chinese students. A New Oriental representative said applicants above a score threshold could receive scholarships of USD 10,000 to 20,000, or in some cases half of their tuition.

A weakening employment market also diverted some graduates toward overseas master’s programmes. March and April were normally the peak of campus spring recruitment, particularly for students who had missed the previous autumn cycle or failed postgraduate entrance examinations. In 2020, recruitment moved online and contracted. Some students began to treat overseas study as an alternative. New Oriental reported inquiries from students who had originally planned to seek jobs but now saw fewer openings, while postgraduate examinations and interviews were also delayed. Between 80 and 90 per cent of these newly interested students were preparing for applications the following year; they were studying for tests while waiting to see whether the outbreak could be controlled.

The overseas outbreak drew public attention toward students already at the far end of the chain. At its beginning, prospective students were more like passengers waiting on a platform, watching the noise and disorder inside the previous train and unsure whether to step through the doors of the next. Compared with those who had already spent time abroad, their road ahead may have been even less certain. All student names in the article—Ma Lin, A-Tu, Wenjia, A-Yun, Cheng Ye, Dongyan and Ning Bei—were pseudonyms.