Danny in Asia

What a week it’s been. I’ve gone from wandering the streets of Hong Kong to moving back to Japan and essentially starting my job immediately from interview to training, then into the fire. Hectic is good, though, as idle time tends to wear on me in unexpected ways, first with grinding teeth at night, growing into a constant dull headache. Of the hundreds of things I learned about myself in my Asian travels, this was the most surprising, that time to burn freely traveling, and lounging on beaches was not the stress-free experience I had expected. I had plenty of money, but money always runs out. This thought, teamed up with my frugal ways, is unavoidable. As I get older my buffer savings, the comfortable breathing room to which I’ve grown accustomed, must be larger and larger for me to really cut loose and spend.
And so I work and in it find my peace, through the day in day out drudgery that the act becomes. Conrad sums it up best I think:

“I don’t like work-no man does-but I like what is in the work,-the chance to find yourself. Your own reality-for yourself, not for others-what no other man can ever know. They can only see the mere show, and never know what it really means.” (Heart of Darkness)

And for the first time I can start to see something emerging that charges my spirits: A body of work, a progression as a young teacher toward the most concrete goals of my life. There is a saying oft quoted that those who do, do, and well you know the rest. With languages I believe this to be largely false, being that to teach a language having had no experience learning one can often be plagued with ineffectiveness. Teaching possible under these circumstances, but not ideal. Of course Japan is full of language teachers who have had little or no experience learning a foreign language and don’t even make an effort with Japanese.
I’m onto my second language now. Together with Spanish I have learned two very contrasting languages, Spanish being difficult in verb conjugation while relatively easy to pronounce and grammar similar to English. Japanese is unique in that it is easy to pronounce, yet has grammar nothing like English and a complex writing system. It also makes use of topical particle which happen to be somewhat of a linguistic scarcity among many of the world’s languages. Learning two structurally different languages has forced me to create new personal study techniques that I can’t help but pass on to my students. This insight has allowed me to grow as both learner and teacher, and continues to direct me more and more to a long-term career in the wide field of linguistic and language acquisition.
From this point the possibilities seem endless, and that is why I’m excited. I can continue to amass experience until I go back to school for a masters in linguistics, or improve my proficiency in languages until I land a good job in whatever country I happen to like at the time. Either way, things are looking good.

I’m halfway through my first week of teaching Japanese elementary kids. What a great decision this has been. After spending the past year and a half trying to figure out Japanese people, I now get the inside look into what makes them so damn Japanese. I guess it’s hard to understand if you haven’t had a lot of contact with the typical, hard-working to the point of insanity, indecisive Japanese person. Trust me, elementary school starts the process.

I’ve really enjoyed how much responsibility the students have. The students clean the school, delivery and serve lunch, and are constantly in and out of the teacher’s room delivering messages, packages, ect. (I never remember being permitted to enter the teacher’s room.) They are instilled with a really solid work ethic that doesn’t get too unhealthy until they enter junior high school.

I teach between 3-6 classes a day at four different schools in the middle of the Japanese countryside. It’s really hard to believe that I’m an hour from Tokyo by train, my surroundings consisting mainly of rice paddies and the occasional Pachinko parlour (Japanese slot casinos). I live in the Japanese equivalent of Woodburn, except the Mexicans are Brazilian for some reason I haven’t discovered yet.

About two minutes before class two students come into the teachers room and ask for “Mr. Daniel Sensei” or “Maa Fee-Sensei” or “Maa Fee Danny-Sensei.” One combination or another. I teach them English if they have a good homeroom teacher, and I entertain them at least if their teacher sucks. The classroom control issues seem to be decided before I set foot in the room. But that’s the way it goes. Class clowns, teacher’s pets; all’s the same but the faces.

This will be a great way to experience the true countryside, and pick up a lot more Japanese. With this job I can actually use Japanese. At recess I talk to the kids in Japanese since I’m at about a 1st grade level, and I can chat with the teachers who rarely speak English or won’t try.

While last year I was technically a teacher, and was referred to as “sensei,” this job title takes on new meaning. English conversation teachers are called sensei for lack of a better term. The prestige and respect that follow this honorific will be applied in full, which means I need to watch my actions carefully. This means obeying all traffic laws, not walking and eating/drinking, and basically being a saint, especially around schools. I might not know who the children’s parents are, but they sure as hell know me. Never know who’s watching in this small town.

These are my first impression of what seems to be a pretty good job. On Sunday this podunk town seemed like the last place I’d want to be in this country, but then the people open up the subtle attributes of a place and it quickly feels like home. That’s why I can’t leave this place.

Each morning I sit in the teacher’s room in my elementary school and wait.  Eventually two children come and ask for Da-ni-e-ru sensei or Maa-fee teacher.  Sometimes they look right at me and ask if the English teacher is there.  (Eigo no sensei imasuka?)  I state that I am indeed there and we set out, announcing our departure with a firm SHITSURESHIMASHITA!  (Now leaving the room!)

Before class starts they all join in the formal greeting (aisatsu), where they stand at attention and announce that learning will officially begin NOW.  The formality of it all caught me off guard at first.  I was impressed by the level of discipline and passed the ritual off as another example of Japanese politeness.  But my first impressions have grown into concerns about a disciplinary structure that I’ve come to believe is too rigid and authoritarian.

I’ve heard from some people that my blog updates need to pick up the pace. It’s been interesting to know how many people have been following my travels. I guess I always assumed a blog by nature is mostly self-serving; some public record of a life being lived, the ultimate slice of electronic self-effacement in the age of individualism. But I guess people read them too, (thanks mom.)Part of me can’t disconnect myself from the idea that returning to my “normal” life back in Japan would make my writing less interesting. Although Japan has achieved some strange degree of normalcy for me, I must remember that it is still exotic and new for many back home. While perhaps not as exciting as backpacking through SE Asia and Southern China, this country still inspires a lot of creativity and observation. For someone not living an orthodox life by many standards, it has been a struggle for me not to get deterred by falsely based assumptions of exoticism.

Another more unavoidable effect of sedentary life is the simple lack of creative motivation that inevitably takes over me. Especially in Japan, A Change of scenery is the best way to bolster creativity, and as my next entry will show, a change of scenery is sometimes difficult to come by in Japan.

Ishige sits in the middle of a vast lowland plain that surrounds Tokyo. It doesn’t take long when leaving the capital for the grid of the city to be replaced by the grid of the countryside, the flat expanse of rice paddies intricately manicured through the ages.Towering from the linear landscape is a white castle with a green tiled roof, seven stories that seem lost in the smallness of the town. It is a modern replica, a community center disguised in the allure of the past. Perhaps it was an overzealous mayor’s attempt to put this place on the map, to make it distinctive. Distinction is an oft-sought commodity in the sameness of Japan.

When I first arrived in Japan almost two years ago I was a kid in a candy store, ready to discover my new temporary home that seemed fresh and new at every turn. I reveled in the foreign atmosphere, of day to day blunders and gems of new knowledge.

Now almost two years into my adventure, those days seem distant. There is an interesting half-life to exoticism. What at first seems a place infinite in newness slowly blends into the normalcy of life. One’s eagerness to take part in all that is foreign must at some point come to the realistic conclusion that it is me who is foreign, and short of reincarnation, there are some aspects of a place I will not come to know.

The most salient example of Japanese discipline is Undo Kai, the fall sports festivals for elementary and junior high school students. The kids arrive back from summer vacations to be herded into the sweltering school yard to begin Undo Kai preparation, two weeks of intense dance, singing, band, and marching practice. The end result is a very impressive six hour show where the red team competes against the white team in games, races, and group activities to see who gets bragging rights for the remainder of the year.

Being a spectator at Undo Kai is great. Families gather under tents and have picnics, rooting on their children through the eyepieces of their handy cams. The first festival I attended left me amazed at the amount of logistics necessary to pull off such a festival. It put my grade school plays and Christmas concerts to shame. By the time I finished the second festival at another school, I had been helping the students prepare for four weeks and had been behind the scenes enough to know that the convivial atmosphere of Undo Kai was a far cry to what the kids had been subjected to during preparation.

Two weeks of the curriculum is devoted to the festival, a large proportion of which consists of standing in line and mastering the choreography of the dance routines. It goes without saying that elementary students are not very interested in standing in line for hours each day. This fact is lost on most of the teachers who scold the students, often violently, for sitting down, goofing off, or any other “childish” behavior. My final impression of the festival is that it is frighteningly militaristic and marks the beginning of students grueling indoctrination to the Japanese “get in line” society. This term may seem harsh to those who haven’t been to Japan, but it would only take a few minutes in Tokyo to witness the long procession of black suits on there way to work each day to realize that this description has merit.

The systematic way in which the elementary students at my schools are guided into group conformity is only the tip of the iceberg in comparison to what goes on in junior and senior high school. At this point, the added pressure of Japan’s infamous testing system is introduced, a voluminous collection of facts deemed essential knowledge for entrance into competitive high schools and universities. Perhaps this is the purpose of Undo Kai. It is an early reminder that this ride isn’t necessarily going to be fun. On the surface it will look like a blast, with proud parents rooting on their children to the finish line. But in the real race there is monotony, and dull memorization, and at the finish line their is no medals or trophies. At the finish line there is a black suit that is worn for life.

Japan is chock full of abysmal, albeit often amusing bits of English. Even after two years here I still chuckle to myself when I throw away my “conburnable” garbage at Starbucks, or when I’m munching on my favorite “thin wheat crackers with wheat.” The past six months of teaching elementary school has been the best place to observe foreign English, with its poor grammar, comical spelling, and often pure indecipherability. The children run around wearing clothes with English they may never understand. The best are those that use correct English yet leave me completely baffled as to why the phrase ended up on a child’s t-shirt at all.

I like the political activist spirit of this shirt: “People demand freedom of speech to compensate for the freedom of thought they seldom use.” When I told the third grader wearing this that I liked it he looked down and seemed surprised that there was indeed English on the shirt. I wonder how many years will pass before he ponders his freedom of anything.

A sixth grade girl’s shirt states “Achieve girlish shyness: TOP PRIORITY.” I looked at her and she giggled into her hand, blushed, and turned away. Mission accomplished. Most girl’s shirts talk about being cute and happy, but some are slightly too suggestive by U.S. standards. For example one fourth grader’s shirt boldly states that she’s “Slammin’” and “(I got jiggy with it).” Another states that “Girl’s pop funny” which wouldn’t be as strange if it weren’t boldly written on a fifth grade boy’s shirt. I will say no more.

Then there are the references to drugs and alcohol. My favorite by far was a third grade boy’s shirt stating that “I am not a heavy drinker”. Phheww! And the pot references abound. In a country with low drug use, the pot leaf doesn’t really express anything but cool. My girlfriend has never taken an illegal drug in her life but has about twenty pot leaf air fresheners hanging from her steering wheel. So if it’s cool for adults, it must be cool for kids too, right? Enter “Back Alley Fashion”…for kids! No joke. Initially it was the pot leaves on kid’s clothes that drew my attention to the window of this mall boutique. The fact that the brand was named “Back Alley” was just icing on the cake. It just proves that fashion trumps innuendo, and pretty much anything else in Japan.

Most shirts say nothing, with no talk of drugs, sex, or being cute. They’re just cool looking foreign words on a shirt, like our “cool” Chinese tattoos, lacking the context that brings out the true beauty of words. But within these floating statements I find a subtle pleasure; an inside joke all my own to smirk at. I passed a first grader today whose shirt said “Walked about the forest with birds singing merrily above his head.” It put a nice picture in my mind. His classmate’s shirt said “It takes about the right time to get there.” I immediately decided that if death were to begin marketing itself, this should be it’s slogan. Death takes about the right time to get there, and if the birds keep singing merrily above your head on the journey there, you have little to complain about.

This is my second political cycle witnessed from overseas. I believe the Internet allows me to stay more up to date than if I were there. The overload of politics that I subject my brain to each day has me once again on the verge of short circuit. I don’t believe that a democratic loss (which I foresee in the senate) will send me into the emotional tailspin of impending doom that the 2004 election did, because I think I’ve come to know better about the nature of modern politics.Everything is broken in the most streamlined efficient way one could imagine. What I mean by this is that our political system has evolved and learned from business to create a country of political consumers. The politicians have adapted and assembled their focus groups to figure out which platform the swing voters will respond to this year. What we get is a political system without vision, spinning its wheels in two-year cycles at the whim of security moms and evangelicals. And under all of this fluff and talk about gay marriage and the minimum wage, corruption is endemic. On both sides of the political spectrum the goal is power and control, little else regardless of what they espouse.

This is what I mean by everything is broken and efficient. The election process has been mastered and the country gets left behind. Our political system succeeds in electing the most powerful message that may or may not even be brought to the floor of the house for debate. The party with the strongest message prevails, and is allowed to continue aiding corrupt corporate interests behind closed doors thanks to a complacent population, uninterested in holding anyone accountable, or even voting. The dumbing of America, whether an unintended effect of our wealth dichotomies, or a phenomena perpetuated by fortune seeking elites, has maintained the status quo, and threatens our revered democracy.

So on election day as you battle long lines, and if you are one of the lucky one to actually have your vote accurately counted, try to retain some hope that our system can be saved. Thanks for exercising your right to vote, and extra kudos for fighting your urge to forego this right, despite feeling like it might not help.

I leave you with a quote by Japanese scholar Rokuro Hidaka:

‘If political and business leaders are indeed convinced that talk of clean government and clean capitalism is only for public consumption, while actually believing that such things are not realistic, and if they support the present system on the basis of such convictions, the result is nihilism. I do not wish to be ruled by nihilists.’

Are you thinking about coming to the far-off nation of Japan to land a teaching job? Has the dust been collecting on your diploma, and your job stocking shelves at the grocery store lost its luster? Do you just want to travel? If you answered yes to any of these questions, your situation sounds a lot like mine was over two years ago.

I’ve met people from all over the world that came to Japan for a variety of reasons. There are the straight shooting travelers, the people actually interested in teaching, and those who have always been drawn to the overwhelming foreignness of Japan. There is the sushi nut, manga nut, and the karate/judo/reiki nut. Some with Japanese ancestry come to get a slice of the old country. I’ve also met my fair share of folks that soured on Japan pretty quickly, throwing in the towel after a few months for a variety of reasons. Ultimately, people come to Japan because it is a relatively simple place to live internationally for English-speaking foreigners with a degree.

I came because it was somewhere to go, the process of getting here was painless, and it seemed exotic. After arriving in Japan, I spent the first 16 months in a position with one of the “big three” conversation schools in the seaside town of Hitachi, northeast of Tokyo. After a two month travel break in SE Asia and China last spring, I returned and began teaching in elementary schools in a small rural town directly north of Tokyo.

The first year in Japan was characterized by the typical travel honeymoon; the literal and figurative Japan drunkenness. I suppose this feeling of exoticism is what most people feel when they live internationally for extended periods of time. You fall in love with every moment, trying to remember your days down to the last second as to not forget your experience. It is why we explore.

This blog’s goal is two-part. First, it is meant to be a quick a dirty guide for all you would-be Japanophiles or recent arrivals out there. If you’re thinking about coming and want to know what it might be like, or are trying to decipher your new surroundings, read on. If you need advice picking the right company, go here. The second goal is to engage the community of people who have been in Japan for longer periods of time, especially if you’re starting to get a little sick of the place, like me.

If you’re drunk on Japan the first year, your second year will likely bring the hangover. Little things have been slowing eating away at me since returning from my mainland Asia trip earlier this year, and I’ve taken my plentiful time to immerse myself in the study of Japan’s unique history, sometimes impenetrable culture, and current position in the world. Instead of becoming the pissed-off expat we all avoid in foreigner bars, I started to really delve into the reasons why Japan is so damn Japanese.

This has been a somewhat frustrating experience in two ways. First of all, many of the positive aspects of Japan that I had come to love and espouse have been cast in doubt. I have come to see both sides of the coin and now realize that many of Japan’s benefits such as low crime and meticulous order have hidden costs. Japan’s shiny modern veneer has become heavily tarnished in my mind. Second, I have set myself up to leave Japan in four months on a sour note. No traveler particularly wants this, but sometimes it is unavoidable. Frustration is the plight of idealists the world over who can’t seem to understand why everything seems to work in such a backward way, seemingly everywhere.

While many of Japan’s social and economic problems have been discussed extensively by the academic, political, and business communities over the years, I hear these concerns voiced less often by the travel community. Descriptions of Japan remark of it’s otherworldliness, shrouded in a neon glow; where people revel in the newness of illiteracy and get a kick out of pointing at their order from the plastic food display case. These descriptions are wonderfully entertaining, and often right on the mark for what it’s like to experience Japan. For the tourist or new arrival, Japan is constant, high octane entertainment. The flow of noise, lights, and cultural oddities is memorable to say the least.

Here’s how you know if the Japan buzz has worn off:

• You arrive at the “natural attraction” displayed on your map and are disappointed by the elevator, tram, concrete tunnel, or vending machine serviced viewing platform.
• The four minute conversation with the homeroom teacher at your teaching assignment is the cultural highlight of the month.
• You start to notice that driving in Japan is like driving in a 1950’s black and white movie. The background is on a continuous loop consisting of: ramen shop, pachinko, MacDonald’s, big box electronic store, ramen shop, snack bar, repeat.

In this following series of posts labeled Brooding in Japan, I reflect on my experiences and frustrations over the past two years and attempt to start discussions among travelers about modern Japanese society, education, business culture, environmental issues, and the ultimate viability of Japan in the globalized world. This may sound like a formidable list of topics to conquer, but I know that those of us who have lived here for any significant period of time will have experiences and opinions to share. Those considering the move here will no doubt benefit from the discussions as well.  Let’s move away from the complaining that often goes on in the travel and teaching forums and start to analyze what makes this fascinating country tick.

With under four months left in a country to which I’ve devoted a decent amount of time, I’ve felt recently that I should have some body of work compiled, something more cohesive than a random thread of blogs. This series is my attempt to amass such a compilation.

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.