The dark underside of Japanese education

Please note that I am not necessarily affirming everything in this article by posting it. I found it while searching for readings for one of my classes and plan to include it in the class for discussion purposes. There are many bright sides to Japanese education, and like any system, there is an underside as well and that underside should be identified and dealt with rather than shoved under the rug. Of course, this article is from 1993, and I believe many aspects have improved in the past 15 years. -Mark

The dark underside of Japanese education
Phi Delta Kappan. Bloomington: Oct 1993. Vol. 75, Iss. 2; pg. 130, 3 pgs

Abstract (Summary)
A man who spent four years in Japan teaching English in a private language school had his share of "bikkuri," the Japanese word for "surprise," which usually carries unpleasant connotations. He details his experiences in the Japanese educational system.

Full Text (2433 words)

Copyright Phi Delta Kappa Oct 1993


On 15 June 1986 I graduated from the University of Oregon at the age of 56. The next day I took advantage of the opportunity for early retirement from my job as a printer at the local newspaper. The following week my wife and I set off to explore modern Japan, while supporting ourselves by teaching English in a private language school.

Bikkuri, the Japanese word for "surprise," usually carries unpleasant connotations, as though all surprises are automatically bad news. During our four years in Japan, we had our share of bikkuri, especially with regard to the Japanese education establishment.

When I first began teaching English to university students, I soon found that the best way (often the only way) to elicit spontaneous speech from a student was to ask a direct question. I immediately noticed that answers to questions that should have required some thought came a little too quickly; they were also suspiciously mechanical. Asking what students thought of the strength of the yen always elicited the answer: "It is not good for small companies; many small companies will go out of business."

After hearing this answer twice in the same day from two students who were majoring in economics, I made it a point to ask every economics student the same question. The answer was invariably the same, almost word for word. None of them seemed to consider their new purchasing power abroad.

Even at the university level, it seems that many Japanese are not educated; they are trained. Individual initiative and independent thought are savagely repressed. I remember one student who studied at the prestigious Kyoto University. In an attempt to drag some spontaneous speech from him, I asked for his opinion on a fairly controversial subject. He became very uncomfortable, and the rest of the conversation went like this:

"Does it make you uncomfortable when I ask you for your opinion?"

"Yes."

"Has anyone ever asked you for your opinion before?"

"No."

"Do you think you have a right to an opinion?"

This last was the magic question, and I will never forget the look of wonder and joy that spread slowly across that student's face as he pondered my question. He thought hard and seriously. He was that kind of person; every question merited his best consideration. His eyes opened wide, and he sat perfectly still, savoring the joy of discovery. I could see the radical new idea flashing in his mind: I have a right to an opinion!

It would be easy for us Americans to think that this student must have been a little dense not to have figured out after 23 years of life that he had a right to an opinion, but we would be wrong. Japanese students are not asked for opinions or conclusions based on what they have learned in a particular class; they are asked to regurgitate information.

If a student were foolhardy enough to volunteer an opinion, he or she would have to be a masochist to do it a second time. Japanese education is harsh, and discipline is severe. Nowhere else is the old Japanese adage "The nail that sticks up gets pounded down" applied more strictly than in the schools. Although corporal punishment is against the law, it is commonly practiced. The teaching aids used for this purpose can include a fist, a belt, or any convenient weapon.

I used to pass a cram school (juku) every morning on my way to work. The teacher was usually writing on the blackboard in English and lecturing in Japanese. The students would wave surreptitiously to me, and I always smiled back.

One morning as I passed the open door, a student was standing with his hands pressed against the wall above his head. On his face was an expression of disgust, humiliation, and resignation. He was trying to smile to cover his shame, but he wasn't having much success. The teacher was just going into his backswing as I passed the door. He held a bat in his hands that was made of fine bamboo switches tightly bound together.

I didn't see the blow land, but I heard it. And I stopped and stood there, forcing myself to mind my own business; it took all my persuasive powers to remind myself that I didn't know the customs, didn't know the transgression, was a guest in the country, and could easily wind up in jail for interfering with the mighty sensei (teacher).

I also realized that the many fine pieces of bamboo bound together made a mighty rattle when they landed and did little real damage. It was much like swatting a puppy with a newspaper. But that student wasn't a puppy. He was a human being, and some of his humanity was being knocked out of him at that moment.

High school baseball tournaments are the high points of the year for many Japanese students. They are followed by devoted fans of all ages. In 1987 one team had a star pitcher whose talent had carried them to the finals. The night before the final series was to begin, the boys didn't get into bed and have the lights out by the time the coach had prescribed. When the coach came to their room at 10 p.m. and found them still up, he flew into a rage and beat several of them -- including the star pitcher -- with his fists.

The next morning, the pitcher resigned from the team. A major league scout was in the stands that day to see the young man pitch. Without the pitcher, the team lost by a wide margin -- but it had already lost the game the night before, at the hands of its own coach.

In 1991 the Tokyo Metropolitan Board of Education conducted a survey of 4,800 students to determine the reasons behind the growing number of school dropouts. Seventeen percent of the students polled admitted that they had often considered quitting school, and 33% said that they sometimes wanted to quit. The reasons mentioned for wanting to quit were: "disappointment with the school" (29%), "lack of academic ability" (14%), and "attitudes of teachers" (13%).

The committee responsible for conducting the survey paid devout lip service to progressive ideas. The members pointed out the need for "guidance and advice that respect the individual feelings of students and for the creation of an appealing school atmosphere."(1) No one who is familiar with the way things are done in Japan is waiting with great anticipation for these suggestions to be implemented.

An analysis of the reasons why some pupils refused to attend school during 1989 revealed that more than 5% objected to their teachers' "harsh language and corporal punishment."

In 1990 Toshihiko Hosoi was posted at the front gate of the high school at which he taught. He had instructions to slam the gate on the stroke of 9 a.m. One day, he slammed the gate on the head of a student who tripped and stumbled into the path of the gate as she raced into the school yard. The student's skull was crushed, and she died instantly.

School authorities decided that the teacher had been just a little too zealous in carrying out his gatekeeping duties, and he was fired. In February 1993 the district court in Kobe found him guilty of involuntary manslaughter, and he was sentenced to a one-year prison term and to three years' probation. The prison sentence was suspended, however, because the court felt that Hosoi had suffered enough by being fired.

Some other incidents were reported in the Japan Times of 23 April 1991.(2)

* On 3 July 1986, a 13-year-old female student was kicked twice in the face by her male homeroom teacher, the school's soccer coach. The first blow struck her in the mouth, killing a nerve in her tooth. The second blow struck her in the chin, dislocating her jaw. This was her punishment for being three minutes late for lunch.

* On 10 September 1986, another 13-year-old female student was summoned to a fourth-floor conference room at a junior high school in Shizuoka Prefecture. There she was slapped, kicked, and punched by 12 teachers for 3-1/2 hours. This was her punishment for riding a motorcycle for a few hours one day during her summer vacation.

* From 1985 to 1990, five students died as a result of beatings from teachers.

Forgetting textbooks can mean being beaten on the buttocks with a board in the presence of the entire class. Girls who use mousse or curl their hair and boys who display a part in their hair are also transgressing school rules and can expect to be punished -- sometimes even expelled.

Most Japanese schools use what is euphemistically known as "controlled education." This simply means that the school enforces rules to control all aspects of the students' lives, in school and out. In addition to corporal punishment, teachers use secret reports that follow students throughout their lives and can effectively bar them from attending a university, regardless of their scores on the entrance exams. According to the Japan Times, "Controlled education became increasingly popular in the 1960s with Japan's economic rise and industry's need for obedient workers."(3)

Parents who complain to the school about the beating of their child are routinely told that it is their fault for not raising the child properly. The school then informs the parent/teacher organization, and the parents are ostracized by that group. To be cut off from the group in such a strongly group-oriented society as Japan is a severe punishment that more independent Westerners cannot fully appreciate.

Not all parents accept the implied threat of banishment, however. And the parents of Hirofumi Shikagawa, who hanged himself in the washroom of a subway station in Tokyo, did not.

Hirofumi left behind a note that described his life as a "living hell" and asked two of the ringleaders of the group that drove him to his death to change their ways. His death was the result of bullying -- and, unfortunately, it was not an isolated case. In one six-month period in the mid-1980s, 150,000 cases of bullying were reported to school authorities. By 1989, bullying cases had declined to 30,000 reported cases.

The aspect of the bullying problem that most Westerners find impossible to understand is that all too often teachers join in the cowardly acts, as happened in Hirofumi's case. One of the last cruelties inflicted on Hirofumi was a mock funeral, at which he was forced to play dead. His homeroom teacher was one of the signers of the "condolence" note and admitted in court that he had tried to retrieve the note from the Shikagawa family after Hirofumi's death.

Hirofumi's family sued the Tokyo Metropolitan Government, the Nakano Ward Office, and the parents of the two ringleaders he had named in his suicide note for 60 million yen ($476,000). The judge ruled that the "funeral" was only an episode of teasing and that it was not provable that this event led to Hirofumi's death. His parents were awarded damages of three million yen plus one million yen for legal expenses ($31,700).(4)

At the time of the decision, Hirofumi's father said that he felt his son had died in vain. However, the case did receive a great deal of publicity, and perhaps my retelling his tragic story here will help to ensure that his death was not in vain nor his life wasted.

The children of executives who are transferred along with their families to a foreign country face great difficulty upon returning to Japan. When the children try to reenter Japanese schools, they are discriminated against, not only by their fellow students but also by school officials. Some schools have refused to admit children returning from foreign countries.

A few years ago, mothers of these unfortunate children formed support groups and took their problems to the Ministry of Education. But very little was done about it. Tax-supported schools still refuse admission to students on no more than the jingoistic whim of the principal.

All is not well with these children, judging from the ones I met. They were usually withdrawn and quiet -- even sullen. I got the impression that they had faced antagonism so often in their young lives that they no longer trusted anyone. It was a long time before the barriers came down and they would talk to me.

Some of them told me they had to be especially careful in English class. Usually the teacher's spoken English was almost nonexistent, but these children, with their excellent command of idiomatic American English, were expected to follow the teacher's lead -- mistakes, poor pronunciation, and all.

For a short time I had an adult student, an executive of a tire company who started to take English lessons but suddenly quit. He had been looking forward to a transfer to Europe, but he gave up that idea for his children's sake. He and his family had seen what happened to other children who returned from foreign countries, and they wanted none of it.

This man was one of the new generation of Japanese fathers whose family comes first. I remember him with affection and admiration. It must have taken a great deal of courage to turn down a transfer and thereby damage his career perhaps beyond repair.

For a period of 250 years, ending around 1860, the penalty for leaving Japan was death if the offender returned. Although such legal sanctions have long since been removed, it seems that some of the stigma lingers on.

Confucian philosophy, which so strongly influences Japanese thinking, teaches that great respect should be shown to teachers. Unfortunately, power has gone along with the respect, and power has done just what Lord Acton, more than a hundred years ago, said it would do -- it has corrupted its possessors.

The one saving grace of the Japanese system is the high expectations everyone has of the students. Despite a rote-memory system of learning, harsh discipline, and occasional brutality, Japanese students do manage to learn quite a bit. I can't help but wonder what our students would do, under our system, if our expectations of them were equally high.

1. "Half of Students Mull Quitting, Poll Finds," Japan Times, 2 May 1991.

2. Christian Huggett, "School Corporal Punishment Leaving Scars That Never Heal," Japan Times, 23 April 1991, p. 4.

3. Ibid.

4. "Lessons from a Schoolboy's Suicide," Japan Times, 31 March 1991, p. 22.

MORLEY YOUNG is a freelance writer living near Eugene, Oregon. (C)1993, Morley Young.

Indexing (document details)
Subjects: Schools, Education policy, Education
Locations: Japan
Document types: Feature
Publication title: Phi Delta Kappan. Bloomington: Oct 1993. Vol. 75, Iss. 2; pg. 130, 3 pgs
Source type: Periodical
ISSN: 00317217
ProQuest document ID: 5004612
Text Word Count 2433
Document URL: http://proquest.umi.com/pqdweb?did=5004612&sid=1&Fmt=3&clien tId=23868&RQT=309&VName=PQD