Modern education in modern Japan?
When I was young I remember hearing about the studious Japanese youth, slaving away well into the evening and even on Saturdays. This was at the height of the economic boom, now referred to as the “bubble era.” The Japanese economic Godzilla from across the sea was knocking at America’s door, spurning uneasy businessmen to buy Japanese in 10 minutes a day tapes and learn how to bow. Historians and economists asked how Japan had bounced back so formidably from the annihilation of World War II to become a top world power. As America’s slacker generation was beginning to come of age, the perceived stark contrast between the two countries’ immediate fates and futures began to cast blame toward education. Japan’s edge must have been a result of superior schools.
A lot has changed since then. The bubble burst (deflated rather), the economy stagnated, and Japanese students have reportedly lost their position as “super students” to the Chinese and Koreans. Despite this downgrade in arbitrary rank, there is still the perception from Westerners that Japan’s students have retained the academic toughness that I heard about growing up. Currently cram schools, English conversation classes, and extra test preparation fill the few free remaining hours of many students’ days. So does all of this ad up to a highly educated population? Not necessarily so.
When I began teaching in four public elementary schools last April I was intrigued by the glaring differences between U.S. and Japanese education. The ritualized greetings, communal lunch environment, and daily group cleaning efforts struck me as wonderful ways to enhance the children’s sense of responsibility and achievement. Everything seems geared toward attaining a group cohesion among students that I found refreshing when compared to America’s hyper-individualism. But slowly this attitude has shifted to one of apprehension. Throughout the past seven months of teaching I have started to see that the group takes priority above all, with individualism and creativity often suppressed for its sake.
To be fare, the group focus is deeply rooted in Japanese history. Japan is, after all, the world’s most homogeneous country, with 97% of the population being ethnically Japanese. It’s history and cultural evolution centered around rice cultivation, which requires a conflict-free, group atmosphere. It’s location also helped guide culture, with Japan seated in a geographically unique corner of the world. The sea separating Japan from mainland Asia provided a buffer from invaders, and gave Japan the privilege of picking and choosing the foreign influences that would enter the country. These physical realities have combined throughout the centuries to create the group centered culture I’ve come to love while living here. This group mentality results in some of Japan’s most highly praised traits, including safety, order, and an emphasis on care for others.
The question I am raising is how much responsibility the school system should bear in fostering group cohesion. Should this behavior really be reinforced at the state level in what is already considered a highly group centered culture? I fear this is exacerbating Japan’s already isolated position in the world. When you begin to dissect how Japan educates its children, you come to find that it is less about the pursuit of knowledge, and more about the mass socialization of the population.
The very structure of the system suggests this to be the case. The school where students attend is strictly regulated by where families live. Private schools at the elementary level are not allowed, or rather not issued permits by the Ministry of Education. In the same way that family choice is limited, so too are the fates of the students when they begin the first grade. Based on a series of aptitude and health tests the previous year, students are separated into classes, called kumi, a group of 30-40 students that will remain together until they graduate to Junior High School. The kumi is meant to foster an atmosphere of cohesion and group loyalty, but also provides prime dynamics for the bullying of outsiders that cannot keep up with the rest.
I teach in classes that are a dream, with most students attentive and on seemingly amicable terms; and I teach in classes that are an absolute nightmare, with rival enemies and bullies that control everything. These are problems facing any school, of course, but the absence of creative solutions gets to the heart of my point. So much is sacrificed for the group that many obvious questions go unanswered. School administrators just trudge along the well trodden path, perhaps sitting in on a particularly chaotic classes to observe the dysfunction first-hand, rather than just hearing it resonate down the halls. The solutions don’t come because the harmony among teachers often takes priority over the harmony of the class. Yes, the group mentality extends to all levels of society. No one dares suggest a change as this might ruffle feathers. And as for the teachers, one shouldn’t expect creative solutions to behavioral problems when they are also products of a system where creativity usually loses out to conformity.
The results of discouraging creativity and individuality start to becomes evident in the fourth grade. Gone is the bright-eyed excitement of the younger students. Upper-class elementary students take out their books drudgingly, answer questions in a whisper, and generally act like they have to be there, but would rather not. While this age does mark a transition point where problems can start to emerge due to the development of the child brain, there are other factors at play here. I’ve narrowed down the reasons for this apathy to three.
First, mistakes are taboo. This doesn’t so much come directly from teachers or the state curriculum, but is a result of the kumi mentality. Within the group there becomes an excepted culture with it’s own body of knowledge. The goal is to blend in and draw no attention to oneself. A wrong answer to a simple question may as well be a red flag. Without a high degree of certainty, students stay quiet. The same goes for personal opinions. Live within the rules of the group culture, or suffer the consequences. Japanese people don’t outgrow this trait, by the way. When I taught adults this was extremely frustrating, and I believe remains the most formidable hurdle for attaining a second language, a skill that is founded on trial and error.
Second, students’ personal interests are ignored. If a student loves to memorize and write Japanese characters, but is poor at math, math work increases. If a student excels at a subject, they need only rise to a predetermined level of proficiency before more focus is applied toward weaker subjects. The desire to create uniformity is what makes older students so listless. Motivation vanishes as personal interests are sidelined due to a poor test result. Teachers, in turn, lose motivation as they are forced to teach increasingly disinterested children.
Third, a focus on forms of knowledge inhibits creativity. What I mean by forms is the focus on idyllic truths and well established facts. Students aren’t taught to seeks out answers for themselves. Everything must be handed over or explained. Even in art class the teacher gets up and shows the kids how to draw a nose, eye, and hand. The art displayed in the hallways of school are clones, similar in dimension, layout, and theme.
This discourages kids from experimenting with the world around them. I was surprised when I asked a third grade class to draw an elephant. They all rushed to the front of the classroom to fight for the picture flashcard to copy from. The first graders had started to draw immediately because they were drawing the elephant in their imagination. As a student I recall many questions ending with “why do you think so?” or “what do you think?” Self expression mattered. If questions end with “why” in Japanese classes, it should be assumed the answer to this question is in a book.
All of these factors combine to either create the wild fourth graders I teach, that are just beginning to rebel, or the zombie sixth graders that have finally given up and consigned to the power of the group, the facts, or the test.
When arriving in Japan one would assume that the ultra modern landscape would be accompanied by an advanced system of education. This is nowhere near the case. Some days I come to work and feel like I’ve come to some elaborately planned socialization factory. The blaring music that is piped in during lunch and cleaning time is the same as the constant noise of Japan. The students’ jam-packed schedules begin to resemble that of their salary men fathers and overstressed mothers. This is ultimately what many scholars and sociologists in Japan argue; that schools are not meant to educate in a classical sense, but teach Japan how to be Japanese. Students must learn how to carry the torch as corporate warriors of the world’s second strongest economy; ask no questions, hard working, citizens for the mass-production society.
Tags: Brooding in Japan, Japan teaching
Administrator
This is the most amazing thing that I have read in a long time. Thank you so much for writing this. I am living in Japan now and this is what I see hear of in faceless whispers all the time. You have confirmed the sad truth that I had hoped to be only a lie. The group mentality only fosters a fear of being an individual. This fear of being an individual extends even into the idea that being unemployed in Japan is to be individualistic. To be unemployed in Japan is to lose the group that one belongs to. And when a Japanese person loses that group–I see now–he or she has been forced back to the day before they ever started school. When they are sent back to that day…it is all a strange mess and they don’t know how to deal with it! So many cases of suicide have surfaced in the recent burst of the economy that have been attributed to “economic reasons” that led to unemployment. In my humble opinion and from the eyes of a midwestern American this is one of the saddest stories that I have ever heard. Dissolving and diluting the creativity of a child in favor for the group; a fear of asking questions; giving up.