My Favorite Sport (SJ: 12/02)

三年生 - Elective

My favorite sport is swimming.

Come summer, I swim in the pool every day.

But I don't watch a swimming races on TV. I am not interested that much.

But I like to play in the water. When I swim, I feel that the flow of the water feels good and I can forget about my daily life because, in the water, I don't hear the noisiness around me. It heals me.

An important thing, though, is not to drown. Because the first thing, living is important.

The Other's Other

A few months ago, after the gold medal match of the World Cup of Softball between USA and Japan, ESPN commentator, Michelle Smith, was heavily chastised for a stereotypical "rice and sushi" joke about a Japanese fan in the stands dressed in a happi coat, which, to be fair, is the standard uniform for men in traditional 和風 related fields, today most commonly found in Japanese dining.

While I actively advocate for the necessity of pointing out individual behaviors and complex systems that perpetuate racial assumptions, I wondered how the dynamic is altered if the appropriated culture, itself, participates in the perpetuation of its own stereotypes.

Because stereotypes have the power to flatten cultures into homogeny, Japanese culture, which has a history of eschewing roughness in favor of uniformity, has become a society which happily trades and is heavily invested in its own stereotypes. It is no accident that ideas of "sushi" and "samurai," "geisha" and "ninjas," robots and technology are quintessentially "Japanese." Even though many households still lack computers, the Japanese, themselves, would say these things to you, even without your asking. Much of the uncritical, national-personal identity is tied up in ideological "samenesses," not limited to appearance, taste or personal philosophies.

But then, of course, such broad, sweeping statements as the one above are flattening and problematic as they don't take into account individual dynamics.

But when those self-same individuals appear invested in these stereotypes for their identity, especially ones that create and perpetuate differences from other local cultures, how much are we to blame as outsiders for participating in those artificial binaries?

Japanese Americans have long benefitted in trading in traditional American-minority stereotypes. As a secondary group of non-indigenous "others" in an otherwise standard majority-minority binary, Asians come out ahead of blacks by merely being a contrasting difference

¹Simply by not being first, but also, importantly, as non-diasporic, financially and culturally affluent expatriates

¹. Like trying to locate a third color in a binary gradient, "yellow" fits fluidly between similarity and dissimilarity because while it is not "pure white," it also passes as definitely "not black."

Taking advantage of the existence of a contentious white-black binary, Asians submitted themselves as an accommodating “model minority"; a triangulating pole against which blacks are judged as a problematic, failing minority group; “proof” that the hegemonic system worked.

This tension between minority "brotherhoods" grows even more when, because of the aforementioned fluidity of their otherness, Asians access and perpetuate culturally flattening black-stereotypes as emotional shortcuts to signify toughness, non-conformity, and, most heinously, solidarity, all of which exists outside of the Asian American reality because of their willful submission to the patriarchy.

It is no surprise, then, that Asian culture groups are in no hurry to overturn systemic racism, lest they put at risk the benefits they reap from being the other's other. And it is no wonder why other minority groups that suffer less favorably have little patience with their Japanese (and Chinese and Korean) counterparts.

But, regardless, cultural appropriation stings equally across races, as Katy Perry's performance at the November 2013 American Music Awards reminds. Appropriation, here, is when aspects of cultural customs and heritages are ripped from their cultural contexts in the service of pandering to larger stereotypes. In this instance, Katy Perry, in order to communicate the beauty of unconditional devotion and self-sacrificial submission, took from the Japanese the Maiko/Geisha, the embodiment of the Yamato Nadeshiko, the delicate floral metaphor of the ideal, pure female beauty, demure and unobtrusive, as codified in the Heian period as part of the 大和魂, the innate, indigenous aspects of true Japanese spirit, the traits that make up the very soul of Japan.

Perry's appropriation of Maiko and the Yamato Nadeshiko is problematic because it subjects Japanese (nee, Asian) women to a sexist, patriarchal submissive ideal, reducing their value to servility and beauty.

But to accuse Perry of appropriation feels a bit disingenuous when Japan still readily trades in such stereotypes. In thinking forward to the 2020 Tokyo Olympics, I have a hard time imagining that their Opening Ceremony wouldn't be much different than what was shown here. After all, famous in Japan

²"Japan-famous."

² is Christel Takigawa's "Omotenashi" speech, used as the centerpiece of Tokyo's Olympic bid package, which, itself, has become more famous here because it is a pandering, pan-Asian mish-mash of koans (公安) and hand-gestures

³Spoiler alert: nobody bows like that here. And Christel does it twice in her 2 minute speech.

³ that spoke more to the orientalist constructs the IOC expected to see. In many ways, the entire Tokyo Olympic bid was a formal presentation of the post-apocalyptic, simulacrum-Tokyo that Tokyo (and its people) doesn't just aspire to be but actually believes itself to be. These images become powerful unifying forces that help give Tokyo (and all of Japan) a sense of grandeur, of purpose. But also smashes everybody into a seemingly faceless one-ness and interchangeability.

In many ways, it is easy to see how japan benefits domestically by perpetuating these stereotypes. But more importantly, as Japan has historically been afforded the unique position to control the terms of substantial portions of its own international image through exclusion and mystery, by investing and targeting specific stereotypes to emphasize, Japan has colored in its own paint-by-numbers narrative to positively contrast with the countries in its area.

Though the Japanese drink as much if not more than their closest neighbors, it's the Koreans who are seen as wild partiers. Though Japan heavily squanders energy on inefficiently recycling waste plastics for packaging and wrapping, they are thought of as clean and environmentally friendly in contrast to the Chinese. And while the mob-run gambling and sex-trade flourish throughout Japan, it's Tokyo, not Bangkok or Manila, that's "safe" and "free from corruption."

By holding tightly onto monolithic, hegemonic institutions, Japan has established itself as a stable cultural state, the icon of thousands of years of history and tradition, despite actually being much younger than its Chinese, Korean and even Southeast Asian neighbors. This despite the fact that many of the images we have of Japan weren't established until the Meiji Restoration in 1868.

On the one hand, it seems perfectly reasonable for people, like Perry, to reiterate the narrative pieces she hears, especially when they appear to come from credible sources

⁴i.e. the Japanese themselves.

⁴. And, when lacking in exposure, ignorance is understandable. But at what point do we start holding people accountable for their ignorance?

The other day, a friend and I met an international student over coffee. Over the course of normal conversation we came to find out he was from Senegal. In a later debriefing about our interaction, it came to light that my friend had plenty of questions he wanted to ask the international student about his home life and his family, but my friend was unsure about whether the questions he wanted to ask were insensitive or ignorant because of our general American unfamiliarity with all-things-Africa.

I affirmed that this was probably the best course of action in this situation. But that, were we to meet our new friend a second time, such persistent ignorance could be seen as nothing short of willful and offensive in its indifference.

Everybody deserves at least that much, right?

Land of Opportunity

I always intend to go to bed as early as possible. Sleeping may just be one of my favorite things in the world, followed closely only by things like "eating" and "pooping."

But the best-laid schemes o' mice an' men, as they say, gang aft agley. And with the likes of Maru, Stack-cat and Nya-Suke on YouTube, I really have no chance of getting to bed before midnight.

Things never go quite as planned. This is especially true when you’re relying on other people’s motivation for success.

A few weeks ago, 2A-Oral Communication left for their Language Training excursion in Torrance, CA. And every week leading up to that since mid-spring, Kashew and I were tasked to provide the students with conversational and cultural instruction that would be beneficial to their experience in America. And though, early on, because the trip seemed so far off in the future, they would struggle to pay any attention to what we had to say, by the time it dawned on them that they would actually be flying to America, they felt under-prepared and overwhelmed by the burden of international travel and cross-cultural interaction.

Over and over again, the students would tell us that they were embarrassed that they could not speak English like a native speaker, that they were afraid that the Americans would think that they were dumb and ignorant about many facets of American culture.

We would listen patiently, nodding in understanding, having shared acutely our own daily experience with the very stress they dread, from shopping at the convenience store, to ordering dinner, to getting haircuts, or trying to schedule weekend activities. No matter how much Japanese we learn, no matter how Japanese we may feel, there are always aspects of Japanese culture that we are not yet privy to, in a way that makes cross-cultural understanding seem more like sifting through quicksand than checking off lessons listed in a textbook.

But, on the other hand, I want to yell at them. What they were dreading was the prospect of being uncomfortable, the mere "likelihood" of misunderstanding. Firmly rooted in their fear of unknowing, I want to shake them out of their risk-adverse hesitancy because, guess what: Surprise!, they aren't native English speakers and, double surprise!, they don’t know anything about American culture. And double-plus surprise!, their host families already know that.

But, as such, we tell them that this is their golden opportunity to 遠慮しない, to act without reservation. That while international travel is scary and cross-cultural exchange is intimidating, a study-abroad trip is the time to explore those scary and intimidating things with as little risk as possible because everyone there knows you came to learn. So there is no shame in ignorance. There is no shame in not knowing. Because you came to learn.

So if they have a question, they should feel free to ask it. If they have a curiosity, they should feel free to explore it. Ask freely, explore freely: the host families sighed up because they want to share their culture as much as they want to learn about Japan.

So that should be our target framework.


One thing that I wanted Kashew to be conscious of as we designed our 2A prep classes is that our goal should be to remove the barriers that the 2A students may face when going to America. We want to facilitate the cultural exchange experience. So whether that be by lowering stress levels by teaching students how not to get lost or "randomly selected" for inspection by TSA at the airport, or teaching them about refrigerator rights or how Americans join the toilet room and the shower room in one, all-encompassing mega-room called the "bathroom," our target is to prepare them for their stay with their host families, because it is their experience with their host families that will teach them more about culture and the value of exchange than we ever could.

We want to facilitate the cultural exchange experience, not replicate it or replace it.

Rather, I believe that if we teach them everything there is about American schools and American eating habits before they leave for America, we're taking valuable exchange experiences away from our students and their host families.

I don't care so much to give them the answers to all of the questions about America before they get there. What I want to teach them before they go is how to ask those questions of their host families and then have to be asked those same questions of themselves.

So we teach them how to talk about their opinions and express their desires. We have them practice how to ask and then listen to the answers. We show them some of the things they will see and do in the hopes that they will start thinking about what they will experience and what they can talk about. All in an attempt to reframe their approach to the exchange program from "risk" to "opportunity."

But no matter how many times we yell at them not to be afraid to take the chance and use their English, that is a decision that they have to make. One we hope they decide to make before they go to America, and not on their way back.

Advice to 2A (SJ: 10/29)

三年生 - A(1)

Hello 2A,

I heard you are going to Torrance soon. I am [Takuya] in 3A. I want to share some advice.

At first, be careful with your baggage and valuables in travel because I lost my hotel key at Griffith. So you should always care for your baggage and valuables.

Second, [Akira], you are a playboy so you shouldn't pick up a girl. You must defend this rule. If you break this rule you can't come back to Japan.

Finally, when you go to Torrance, you should talk with many people. And then you can make many friends and have the best time. God bless you!

I hope my advice can help you. Please enjoy your travel.

The Content of Character

It was the first time in five years that I had seen her. I wanted to say, "I missed you so much, mom"; "I am so happy to see you again," but the sentences wouldn't come out of my mouth. They felt trapped, like a ball of cotton sticking in my teeth, making it hard to breathe.

Hey Nick, long time no e-.

That little snippet above is our entry from this year's free-speech contest. It's the introduction to the emotional crisis that we would spend the next four minutes trying to resolve. But, from that, if it's not obvious: we did not win, because, duh.

If you think about it too much

¹And I think maybe I do.

¹, writing the speech is probably the easiest part of preparing the students for a speech contest. Well, the actual writing, itself, is of course an unceasing labor, first in trying to understand the content, then in trying to understand the speaker because, ultimately, speech writing is about helping the student say what they want to say in the ways they want to say it if only their grasp of the English language were better. But once the speech has been sent to print, since the text supposedly speaks of their heart, it should be no extra work to get them to invest in performing the content.

In lots of ways, helping students pick materials for the Recitation and Reading divisions is much more challenging for me. And even once the material has been picked, I can't help but stress over whether or not the material is at the appropriate level for the speaker and for the contest.

That is why even before I begin, we get together to lay out a Map of Success for the students. The Critical Theorist in me requires that we clearly articulate objectives for the speech contest and define what we are going to consider a 'success' and what is a 'failure.'

For some of our students, merely participating is the target, so then 'participating well' is our goal. For other students, we have much more specific challenges, such as oral mechanics or level of difficulty of vocabulary or grammatical patterns that we would like for them to develop.

And while 'winning' is a definitely a consideration, I do not like making it a significant marker of success because there are so many variables to placing that are so far beyond our control. After all, though winning is 'the point' of the competition, what if we perform admirably but the level of competition happens to be unusually high that day? Was that a waste of time? Or, conversely, if we perform abysmally, but the level of competition is low and we win, do we consider our preparation and execution a 'success,' or anything more than just being really lucky? Or what if the judges are 'bad' and judge according to criteria that is beyond the scope of the rubric of the contest

²*[Cough, cough]*

²?

It becomes paramount to not only recognize that in judged competitions, sometimes it is not always what we do right or wrong, but about what the other contestants do and what the judges see or do not see.

All we can do is make sure that we produce a speech--in content and delivery--that is comprehensible and compelling.

So, with an eye towards our mutually negotiated terms of 'success,' in picking the material for our recitation and reading, there are a few key factors that I want to consider: in order for the student to want to spend hours and hours working on the minutia of mechanics, the text needs to be emotionally engaging and offer points of personal investment; likewise, in order for the time spent to be a worthwhile learning experience, the text should be sufficiently challenging.

Similarly, since I will have to listen to the student recite the speech for weeks on end, it has to be a text that I find worth listening to.

And yet, and yet, sometimes I don't know if the challenge is worth the risk. Maybe the text is too hard to memorize, let alone understand. Maybe the text does not accurately showcase the students' talents or strengths. Or maybe the text does not line up with what the judges expect or come prepared to hear.

One of our students is a girl from Peru: smart, charming, and a very competent English speaker. We did not particularly have any students in mind when trying to select who to ask to do the district speech contest, and so it was by great fortune that Naomi stepped up to the challenge. It was as if she fell into my nets, a giftwrapped treasure from the gods set afloat down the stream. And so when she drifted along she seemed to be the perfect pair to a text that had also, out-of-the-blue, jumped into my ship three months earlier.

Now, I'm perpetually on the lookout for new material, but it seemed to be a particularly divine turn of the Wheel that I stumbled upon a not-too distant episode of Radiolab that happened to feature a story from Cosmicomics.

"The Distance of the Moon" is a 1965, translated text written by Italian neo-mythologizer, Italo Calvino. It is a beautifully written tale based on the premise that at one time the earth and moon were much closer to each other than they are now: so close, in fact, that all you had to do was prop up a tall ladder and you could find yourself on the cool, cream-colored surface of the moon.

The text, written in an oral, folk-tale style, is challenging in its conversational tone, in addition to its advanced vocabulary.

On those nights the water was very calm, so silvery it looked like mercury, and the fish in it, violet-colored, unable to resist the Moon's attraction, rose to the surface, all of them, and so did the octopuses and the saffron medusas.

Despite being quite conversant in English, the text was hard for her to read aloud and its meaning obfuscated by the extremely casual structure. But that very tone and rhythm helped to create space for some strikingly beautiful prose:

...or else we contemplated the stars beyond the Moon, big as pieces of fruit, made of light, ripened on the curved branches of the sky, and everything exceeded my most luminous hopes, and yet, and yet, it was, instead, exile.

It is difficult to read. It is a bit lilting and heavy of heart. But its hopeful richness and wonder is a tone that matches Naomi to a tee.

It was a risk because I was not sure if Naomi would be able to master the text. But, most of all, it was a risk because I was not sure that the judges would understand the context of the presentation as a break from the stilted political stump form. Would they be open to a dynamic, oral interpretation inspired reading?

And, unfortunately

³As the Wheel is wont to turn

³, I am thinking that they did not.

It was, by far, the most technically complex text in the entire speech contest. It was also the most interesting, with its emotional depth and literary beauty. But it is hard to say if I set Naomi up for success with the piece that we picked.

However, I do know that I would have been disappointed with myself if I let us pick a 一年生英語 Reader level text

⁴Anyone interested in a fourth or fifth rendition of "Stay Hungry, Stay Foolish," or "I Have a Dream"? No? Okay, how about "The History of Ice Cream," or an excerpt from the Disney Storybook Collection?

⁴ like everyone else.

Anyway, it appears that any text that asks the judges to listen to the content to understand changes in tone or emotion, let alone challenges them to listen to a student speak at near-native pace, is a little too much to ask for. I guess I will just have to dust off my old copies of Big Dipper or Mainstream if I want my kids to get past the district round.

The Path of 10,000 Stones

When I got to Boston, I found myself enrolled in EN844: Medieval Mystics.

Now, this was hardly my first Medieval Literature course. In fact, I have had a long, tantric love affair with Medieval Literature that included a self-hating course

¹Me, not the course.

¹ in Beowulf, in its original Old English.

And so in reading the texts of the Medieval Christian Mystics, that these people would struggle to come to grips with their humanity was not so surprising. What was amazing was the lengths they would go to apply the critical theory they espoused in an attempt to transublimate the divine they found inaccessible in everyday life.

These people would veritably tear up the floor boards of their being to examine the bits and pieces of their soul. Their austere lives took, piecemeal, their psyches, removing it from its whole to scrub its parts until it lustered, getting to know every nook and cog, coming to know, intimately, the function of its pieces and begin to see the potential in the machine. The processes of prolonged fasting and physical and emotional self-flagellation laid bare the shape of their souls in the hopes to purify their vessel adequately to become a receptacle for the divine.

This is hardly a phenomenon unique to the West. Nearly every moderately developed religion produces sects of ascetic practitioners whose bodies of work leave indelible marks on the landscape of belief.

In the late 6th century, Prince Hachiko (蜂子皇子), the son of Emperor Sushuo (崇峻天皇), began a religious journey of self- (and political-) rediscovery as he fled the Soga clan (蘇我氏) from his home in the capital of Kyoto.

Having made the 700km journey from the opulent, steamy West of Geishas and tea houses to the austere, frozen, barbarian lands of Tsuruoka in Yamagata (鶴岡市、山形県), his diligence was rewarded with a vision from a three-legged cow, who came as a messenger from the gods: climb Mount Haguro (羽黒山), and there, purify yourself and you will find the enlightenment which you seek.

At the top of Mount Haguro, as one deposed and in exile, he would dedicate his life to rigorous ascetic pursuits and later establish a shrine, Dewa Sanzan (出羽三山), and two more subsequent shrines at the nearby summits of Yudono (湯殿山) and Gassan (月山), where he would achieve the climax of his religious experience.

The Dewa Sanzan (both individually and as a unit) persists as a testament to ascetic religious experience. Even today one can make the arduous three day pilgrimage (お遍) to the three sacred power-spots (霊山) in classic ascetic fashion, wearing straw sandals and the 浄衣 of the Shinto religious class. But if you’re not so hardy, as I tend not to be, one can take any number of buses to the summits of any three of the mountains, though it will cost you a hefty fee

²Public transportation: an ascetic practice all on its own.

². From Tsuruoka (鶴岡) Station, each bus takes about two hours to its destination, but just the bus to the Yudono Information Center alone cost us ¥$18 each (one way).

These buses run limited service in non-peak season, meaning that they run fewer than once every hour (mid-day we had to wait four-and-a-half hours for a return trip from Yudono), but it would seem that even that could be considered part of the ascetic journey, if you were trying to be optimistic. That being said, if you’re going to go to Tsuruoka, book a tour: it seemed much more convenient and expedient.

Kashew and I only had time (and energy) to visit the lower two of the shrines, Haguro and Yudono.

They say that Haguro is the most easily accessible of the three to visit, as there is literally a bus stop at the shrine-summit. But what kind of experience is that?

The alternative is to get off the bus at the Welcome Center and take the leisurely stroll up the 2,446 steps to the shrine

³

³. And while most of those flights are near-vertical, if you take your time, I can see how the cedar lined walkways could be quite the romantic experience, as the sunlight stippled stones wind their way over calm streams and around thousand year-old, moss-covered shrines and pagodas.

However, dripping with sweat and being beaten up the course by three, spritely junior high girls, I found it to be soul-crushing and humbling.

At the end of the stairs is an active, well-kept shrine in the modern style, as you would come to expect from your tours of Japan. While the shrine itself is not particularly the image of divine contemplation, I suppose it is supposed to be the experience of getting to the shrine that is sublime.

Actually, we spent most of our time, while not gassed and embarrassed by 80 year-old grandmas with walking sticks, looking for the 33 ancient carvings in the stone walk way. It is said that if you find all 33 icons, your dreams will come true. But between age and random tagging in the stone facing, at best we found only 15 or so. But, in the fine tradition of ascetic monks everywhere, I figure that there are probably really only 15 or so etchings; a Magritte-esque slight-of-hand to suggest that if our vision is so narrowed by our selfish desires, we miss the transcendence of the journey. Or something like that.

Ostensibly, from Haguro, one makes the eight hour hike to Yudono, a power-spot famous as being the artesian root of the hot springs of Tsuruoka. Here, in AD605, it is said that Hachiko was inhabited by the Buddha and given the revelation that the Shinto gods were all avatars of the Buddha himself.

And, thusly, Yudono, though not the highest of the three shrines, is considered to be the most important to the Shingon Sect. So sacred is the shrine, in fact, that pictures are strictly forbidden beginning all the way from the 大鳥居 gate at the welcome center, 2km away.

After a short walk along a ravine wall and across a narrow, wooden bridge, you find yourself at a Shinto-styled station waylaid by a brown and red stone face that overlooks lush, green folds of pines below. There, at the gate, you must remove your shoes and complete the remaining five minute walk barefoot over stones, but only after a short purification ritual (nominal fee: ¥$5

⁴Of course a small price to pay for your soul

⁴). As sacred as the site itself is, the priests there say that your experience at the shrine is just as sacred and so should never be spoken of or even listened to.

Suffice it to say, then, though the shrine at Yudono took no more than an hour to see, it was truly a unique experience, especially to merely be witness to any Shinto ceremony, which tend to be rather exclusive in its familial intimacy (and cost)

⁵Born Shinto, Die Buddhist.

⁵. Of course, admittedly, at the end of the eight hour hike to and from Gassan, the one hour at Yudono could theoretically feel like a spiritual eternity.

But I’ll leave that to you asceticists. I have a bus to catch.

For What It's Worth

A couple weeks ago Kashew and I realized that we had an extended weekend coming up. In September, we have a couple of Mondays and Tuesdays off, but these are no ordinary holidays. Rather, they are mid-week CTO for Saturday in-service for Junior High Open House and Bunkasai, which meant that, if we felt so inclined, we could prepare a trip almost anywhere in Japan and expect tourist crowds to be at a minimum.

For a long while we’ve been eyeing a trip to Yakushima (屋久島、鹿児島県、九州), the UNESCO nature preserve off the coast of Kagoshima that is home to some of the oldest trees in the world, as well as the inspiration for the setting of much of Mononoke Hime, only the best movie Japan has ever produced.

In August, we found some really cheap ticket prices

¹The influx of LCCs in Japan have really opened up domestic travel at around \$130 round trip.

¹ and were getting set to drop some dough and go for a four-day retreat and 温泉.

But I just wasn’t sure. By our estimation, we would fly into Kagoshima late in the weekend and catch the 4-hour ferry (or 3-hour foil) out to Yakushima. Theoretically, if we were to get back to Kagoshima in time to see anything in Kyushu before catching our flight back to Kanto, we’d most likely spend a mere two half-days on the island itself.

Admittedly, after perusing the suspiciously short list of things there are to do in Yakushima, two half-days would seem like an appropriate amount of time to see a good majority of the things there are to see there. Except that of the four things to do listed on the Japan-Guide.com website, only one of them did not use the words “multi-hour” and “hike” in any sort of combination.

This created a dilemma.

Would it be worth it to spend the hundreds and hundreds of dollars and half-dozen hours it would cost to fly down to Kagoshima and catch the ferry to Yakushima only to really be able to say, ‘Yeah, I’ve been there,’ but not be able to say, ‘Yeah, I’ve seen that’?

"Cost" is an interesting variable, and one whose aspects have changed for me over time. Having grown up in a somewhat affluent area of Southern California, there have only been two distinct periods in my life where public transportation has played an important role in my every day traveling.

Back in 2005 or so, I used the extensive network of Boston Public Transportation to my full advantage, running from one end of Downtown to the other and, back and forth across the Charles by ferry or bus or rail on a daily basis.

At that time, what mattered most to me was not particularly the financial cost: what mattered most to me was time, which combination of transportation modes would get me from point-A to point-B in the least amount of time, regardless of back-tracking or line-skirting.

Whether there was any actual reason to be in a hurry was inconsequential. The mere shaving of minutes off of regular travel routes was its own point of pride.

And now whether it is that I have just grown somnolent in the last 9 years, but all of that rushing now seems so senseless and particularly pointless to me. My metric of value has shifted: no longer do those 3 minutes “saved” mean much of anything, especially if it’s a matter of spending 3 minutes in the train or 3 minutes standing on the platform waiting for the next train. What matters most in how I plan my travel itineraries now is “total number of transfers”: the total number of times I have to stand up, walk up the stairs and across the pedestrian overpass, and board another car, hoping to find an open seat.

If time is money, I have decided to cash in on comfort.

The 常磐線, the train route that services the greater Kashiwa area, has two lines, the Rapid and the Local. The Rapid stops at 8 stations between Toride and Ueno, skipping minor stations like Kita-Kashiwa, where I happen to live.

And while the Joban Rapid gets from Ueno to Kashiwa 20 minutes faster than the local, because I would need to transfer from the Rapid to the Local at Kashiwa to get to Kita-Kashiwa, it always gives me pause

This brought about the discussion of ‘worth.’ What does it mean that it would be ‘worth’ doing something?

The negative way of thinking in this situation seemed to be along the lines of opportunity: “When will you ever again have the opportunity to go,” especially if this is my last year working in Japan. As an opportunist, it may be surprising to think that this approach could be classified as negative. But, ultimately, the question is asking, “How will you know if you will ever be able to have this chance again?” which, to me, is a negative way of looking at opportunities of agency. The counter question is, “Why do you assume that I would not be able to go if I no longer lived in Kashiwa?”

The true opportunity is one of convenience, not of availability. And while every opportunity must be weighed against its cost, opportunities of convenience must be weighed against future cost + potential inconvenience.

Presently, the convenience offered is exclusivity (being a small minority on holiday at the time) and assured proximity (traveling from Kanto to Kyushu is much closer than traveling from LA to Kyushu, though next year I may very well find myself in Kansai, which would be a decrease in potential inconvenience).

The necessarily incurred inconveniences by taking advantage of this opportunity are our time limitations and travel fees plus incidental costs, such as the fact that my MacBook Pro just died and will have to be replaced at great expense within the end of the year.

At this point, the variables have become confused. This begs me to clearly articulate my analytic metrics: the one we will use in this instance is cost versus potential enjoyment against the cost of deferment.

This geometric theory can be summed up by asking, “Will I enjoy[Ʃ]: X(activity) for Y(amount of time) at Z(cost) more than [Replacement Activity]?” It’s the VORP of travel planning.

In the Yakushima Intiative, it appears that the sole variable in question is that of Y: time. The amount of time we have allotted would likely diminish the amount of potential Ʃnjoyment of said experience. Or would it?

Could anybody guarantee the greater amount of fun Yakushima would be if I had 2, 3 or even 4 whole days on the island? Or, incidentally, could that risk be mitigated by increasing the amount of time we could spend hanging out in and around Kagoshima before or after?

Presently, I would be inclined to say that at the current expected cost, such an improved outcome would be likely with more time to relax. So it would seem that deferring the trip would be preferable, despite the potentially great possibility that no opportunity to go would arise the longer I wait

²Though as an actionable situation, the variable of Will will ostensibly tilt the equation. One of my Statistics pet-peeves is the tendency to treat actionable situations as if they were random occurrences, and therefore suggest that statistics are predictive rather than indicative.

².

However, even if Yakushima scores lowly with the present metric (Event[Experience; Opportunity; Company; &tc.] :: Cost[Time; Money; Energy; &tc.]), within the immediate context, is there anything better I would be doing with my time than going? Finally get around to touring 青森県? Maybe even 福島県? Four consecutive days of 焼き肉食放題? Four consecutive days of 柔道? Four consecutive days of sitting at home alone and watching TV?

Despite having an overall lower ceiling, all of these other activities also happen to have much lower costs and, therefore, much higher likelihood of satisfaction associated with it. Thusly, not going to Yakushima seems to have a greater likelihood of resulting in Ʃnjoyment.

However, this is only so if I actually make other plans.

Summer Break 2013

Hey Nick,

Short post today. I’ve been tossing some ideas around for a while but none of them seem to stick to the walls. So I made an arbitrary deadline to post something by the end of Labor Day (even though it’s getting hard to remember, exactly, which day is Labor Day). But the blog’s been a little too quiet of late. I promise a more robust article on something (*anything) soon.

Perhaps one of the only difficulties about visiting home on vacation is that you know that there is going to be a short list of five or six questions that everyone is going to ask.

“How is Japan?” “When are you moving back to America?” “Have you married anyone?”

I don’t think it’s malicious or lazy, but because these questions do seem predicated solely upon the assumptions of social normalcy, they are tiring in their presumptive inevitability, like with clearing customs, it’s a probationary check-in on my progress as a ‘normal,’ contributing member of society. Sometimes, it would seem more efficient to print up an FAQ for distribution upon arrival: “Japan is great, but hot. My contract ends in July of next year and I have no firm plans yet, though I am looking. And no, I am enjoying my free time and copious amounts of bachelor ca$he.”

I guess that it’s the same regardless of which life stage you are in. The same kinds of questions are passed around like greeting cards to recent grads, to single people past their thirties, married peoples without children, and on and on and on.

Fact is, most people are genuinely interested in hearing how things are going, and if we haven’t been in constant contact, these micro-inquisitions are probably the most accessible, expeditious ways to jump right in.

And to eschew such conversation is the same to eschew all such small talk and ignore the fact that a large amount of information is still communicated through such seemingly meaningless exchange of white noise.

Over the weekend we had the opportunity to drive up to Nipomo for a family gathering. It was a pretty big event so we managed to pack the grandparents in with the luggage and make the short three-and-a-half hour drive up the coast for a weekend away.

While we were there, we met the grandmother of my brother’s fiancée, a Japanese woman of comparable age to my grandfather, who is also Japanese American. After the introductions were made, the two of them were left together to chat.

Their conversation faltered, so my grandpa started in to his version of small-talk: “What camp were you stationed at,” he asked.

Both being Japanese American and alive during World War II, this remains a touchstone for them 70 years later. It’s not the first time that I’ve overheard him begin a conversation with this and though he, personally, has always been reticent to talk to us about his experience at the internment camps, I’ve always been curious as to what sorts of identifiers he feels he learns from asking people where they were stationed.

I suppose the same sorts of things could be said about any or all small talk—the weather, work plans, internment: we’re all just plying for conversational ins and looking for pathways of permission from points of common contact.

Teganuma Hanabi Taikai

Hey Nick,

I noticed that you finally evolved your Hino Kagutsuchi in Puzzle & Dragons

¹That's one Puzzle, multiple Dragons. Also available for Android devices.

¹. Wayne and I were wondering if you just didn't know about Ultimate Evolutions or had just not yet collected all of the pieces.

Anyway, just wanted to say that P&D is old-hat. All the cool kids are now playing Wind Runner. It's a Line-Appli game. It's fun, kinda. Or not. I don't know.

---

The first thing you have to know about Kita-Kashiwa

²北柏.

² is that it is where I live. The second thing is that, apart from M&J Billiards and Darts above the 7-11, there's not that much going on in Kita-Kashiwa. For a brief while, Kita-Kashiwa was the talk of the town as rumors incessantly hummed about the Costco that was going to be built down by the Monsoon Love Hotel. The fact that Costco was seriously contemplating opening their 10th Kanto area store in a gigantic empty lot down the street from my apartment was a constant drone, like the sound of the summer cicadas. Where were they going to build the parking lot? Were they going to widen the streets or expand the station? Maybe even make it a stop along the Rapid Line? A sure mark that Kita-Kashiwa had "made it" as a major economic factor in North-Chiba.

But like most businesses, they took a look around and decided that there just wasn't enough people in the Teganuma area to warrant an investment and chose Tsukuba: that boom-town of a city. Instead, in that empty lot they built a gigantic logistics facility that I have yet seen a truck drive in or out of since the last cement truck pulled away and the tape came down six months ago. But it is a very nice building. And very well lit.

Despite the fact that there are only a handful of eateries and the nearest supermarket is a 10 minute bike ride uphill across the river, Kita-Kashiwa is a nice place to live. It's quaint. It's train-convenient. It's often quiet

³except when the ヤンキース ride through on their modded-out bikes.

³. And it's my home.

But it's also the home of the area's largest annual fireworks festival, the 手賀沼花火大会.

You'll have to forgive me for not knowing much about the hanabi-taikai, except that it is a hundreds-year-old-tradition that happens every year in thousands of places across Japan on the first Saturday of August.

And while I didn't get to go last year because it was cancelled due to the general instability of the Japanese economy, or the year before because of the Tohoku Disaster, I had no intention to go to go out of my way to see any 花火大会 this year, even though this could very well have been my only chance.

Either way, whatever my reasons were--because they're probably stupid anyway--I was not really planning on going. Maybe I'd take in a movie, or read a book, or go out on a date instead: you know, any number of statistical improbabilities. I was just going to watch TV and eat popcorn.

But I digress. Where was I? Oh yes.

I was not planning on going to watch fireworks. Years of Disney-branded Fireworks Extravaganzas have jaded me to the possibilities of any interest in civic-sponsored firework events.

So when a coworker in the Foreign Language Department asked me if I was planning on walking the 100 meters down the road to Furusato Koen (the chic place to catch some summer sizzle), I told her, "No, I wasn't planning on it."

She must have thought that I was expressing concern for the bustle of the event, since it being a community staple, it was unthinkable that anyone would choose to not to want to go.

"Oh, I see," she said. "If Kita-Kashiwa is too crowded," she continued, "you should go see Kashiwa-no-Ha's fireworks display."

"Oh," I nodded politely in response.

"But their show is a little small this year."

"Oh," I said.

"Yeah. This year it's only 45-minutes."

"Oh," I said.

This year's Teganuma Hanabi Taikai clocked in at a little over 90 minutes long, a few million mosquitoes deep, and one really creepy looking amphibious cricket-beetle thing that tried to make babies with my forearm.

I will pass no critical judgement over the fireworks show itself save for two points: 1) a 90-minute fireworks show is just what you'd think it would be, just imagine six fifteen-minute fireworks shows playing consecutively; and, 2) they actually set off fireworks on the lake's surface. That, itself, would only have been surpassed in coolness if they skipped fireworks across the lake. Which is to say, that that is still pretty cool.

Fun fact: up until 2011, Teganuma was Japan's dirtiest lake. Now it is only number 2 on the list.

Bonus flair: this summer's hot J-dance track is last summer's J-sleeper. 安室奈美恵's ONLY YOU!

Cultural Exchange

"So, American students," Kuwabara-先生 called out into the crowded hall, "how many of you agree with the article? How many of you like what Yu Darvish had said?"

The question was simple. So simple it was a tad mundane. And for the most part, the North High students considered the question so mundane that it hardly warranted a fully raised hand, merely a lazily lofted arm: two-dozen or so palms wisped like daisies made heavy with the morning dew.

But the surprise that bubbled from the Japanese students belied just how exceptional the question actually was.

Every year, 柏市立柏高等学校 hosts a group of 20-or-so students from North Torrance High School from the South Bay area of Los Angeles, California. For a whole week, these students come and live with an Ichikashi student, even attending “regular” classes with Japanese students. However, the very nature of having non-Japanese speaking students in all-Japanese classes that balloon up to 50 or 60 people per session requires that these classes always offer specially tailored activities that pay special mind towards cross-cultural exposure and cooperation.

And, so, Kuwabara prepped his reading class a week in advance of the North High students’ arrival, leading 3-D組 in a small discussion about the most important characteristics of a Japanese person. “When you think of what makes a Japanese person different from all other people in the world,” it was asked, “what traits come to mind?”

The students came up with two answers that were basically the flip-side of each other: 1) Japanese people are “modest,” and 2) Japanese people “lack self-confidence.” These traits, it was believed, stood in direct opposition to what the American students were going to bring to the class they would share at the end of the month.

And so, on the day of 3-D組 Reading, the class was abuzz with nervous energy, the Japanese kids exuding polite deference while the Americans, no doubt, brimmed with confidence and pride. Kuwabara passed out a packet of articles and asked the students to work together to read and interview each other with some pre-written questions in summary and analysis.

The first article was from a media conference after Yu Darvish’s first spring training appearance with the Texas Rangers. The press asked him to critique his own performance, especially noting a well-struck ball that fell just short of being a homerun. In standard Japanese-fashion he answered plainly and honestly, saying that the pitch wasn’t the best and if the batter would have just gotten a little more square it would certainly have been a homerun.

It was an unremarkable comment, in the least, except that it sparked a mini-controversy. As most fans of American baseball know, regardless of the objectivity of the assessment, the pitcher is never supposed to critique the batter. This, however, confused many of the Japanese students: such a comment is not uncommon amongst Japanese players, but this article illustrated how cultural differences can easily be misconstrued as rudeness or insult. Since many of our students only encounter foreigners as tourists in Japan, it is easy for them to read the cultural ignorance of tourists as rudeness, unaware that inter-culturally this works both ways.

     
The second article was written a few months later and focused on Darvish’s All-Star projections. Arriving much heralded as a top Japanese prospect, despite having only a few starts to his credit, Darvish was in the lead according to fan-votes to make an appearance in his very first All-Star Game in his freshman season. However, when asked to comment about the potential to pitch as a rookie, Darvish, flattered, responded by saying that he felt he had not yet earned such an honor.

And while the Japanese students lauded this response with fervent nods of approval, they fully expected the American students to shun it as too passive, as silly, as weak.

So, after being asked if they approved of what Darvish had said, when hand after American-hand sprouted amongst the field of heads in agreement, a gentle wave of murmurs of disbelief spread across the room like a spring breeze. 「ビックリでした！」, the Ichikashi students muttered under their breath: “Shocking.” Perhaps they were not the only ones who could appreciate humility.

Ultimately, it was a simple lesson with simple questions that lead to a simple and relatively predictable conclusion. But, as Kuwabara posits, these are questions that apparently have not yet been asked of our students. “They don’t really think about what it means to be Japanese,” he says of the kids, many of whom live in predominantly homogenous communities and so never have occasion to consider such critical questions, even the simple ones.

But one thing that I learned in my time as a youth advisor teaching hermeneutics in America is that we should never eschew simple questions merely for the sake that they are simple. In fact, many of the biggest interpretational mistakes I see arise from skipping the simple questions because those questions appear beneath the reader’s assumptions, because “advanced” readers shouldn’t have to bother with such low-standing bramble.

Rather, the root of critical thinking is in learning which questions, no matter how simple or reductive, always need to be asked. It is those simple questions that are often the hardest to answer, and often the real reason we learn to skip them is because it is more convenient to assume their rightness than to investigate their validity. But if left untended, the briar becomes a patch: we take their rightness for granted only to find after a few steps our feet tangled and our interpretations tripped. And many of our students, Kuwabara continues, take the composition of their Japaneseness for granted.

I have started working with Kuwabara to expand this assignment into a short series of such critical thinking assignments where, by using cultural texts in English (both resources in writing and the resident Foreign Language Instructors), they will be challenged to ask questions about what they think it means to be Japanese and how their critical approaches to this question affects those around them

¹May be relevant:

¹.

For example, the lesson I am currently writing, using a Facebook exchange as “text,” discusses homogeny as a core principle of national identity and what that does to students who are wholly invested in the Japanese national identity but appear to fall outside of such “normalcy” (foreign-looking people who were born and raised in Japan, for one). How assumptions of identity through “seemingness” appear to easily qualify subscription, but cruelly alienates indiscriminately.

That day I believe I saw the sublime pass over one student's face like the revelation of the divine glow of the moon passing from behind a cloud as we watched stereotypes collapse with the lazy flick of the wrist of the American students who raised their hand in passive agreement.

Not two weeks ago at a 飲み会 I was talking to Narazaki-先生, a 二学生 history teacher at Ichikashi. He was saying, as educators, they live for these moments where the practical collection of knowledge passes from mere static facts into dynamic nodes of relation and reference for the pursuit of further knowledge. That the dates of this emperor's rule or the kanji for this ancient place, these things certainly must be memorized. But there are those rare moments when, for a student who has been desperately juggling disparate names and dates all year long, everything just falls into place like plastic shapes in the game Perfection. Connections are made and the world of history opens up like an unlocked cipher, where today is now seen through the lens of yesterday, and allows us see the possibilities of tomorrow in a whole new way.

He revels in those moments—they all revel in these moments—he said, and that is when teaching feels worth it.

And then, just like in Perfection, the bell sounds and the pieces are tossed into the air, only to fall to the floor in a jumble to be collected again next period.

Your Best Friend (SJ: 6/05)

三年生 - Elective

My friend's name is [Mariko]. She is popular with the class. She looks cute and has beautiful hair. She never loses her temper. She is never late for school. She promises she won't cause you any trouble. She would be the last person to tell a lie. She is in the same class as me. She is a good flute player. She has a sound digestive system.

Your Manga - 2 (SJ: 5/17)

三年生 - A(2)

He visited a castle and had to poop. He said, "I have to go to the bathroom!!"

Why does he want to go to the bathroom? Because his castle was broken by a mystery man, so the bathroom was broken. He did not get to go to the bathroom. So he was suffering from poop.

When he finally goes to the bathroom, there is no toilet paper.

He said, "I'm done," and the castle had a big explosion.

The explosion blew him away. The castle was filled with a bad smell. He was killed by the bad smell.

The end.

Your Manga (SJ: 5/17)

三年生 - A(2)

This manga takes place in Shanghai in China.
It took place during spring vacation.
The main character is [Daisuke].
[Daisuke] met [Yuka] for the first time in a long time in town.
[Yuka] said, “Who are you?”
“I’m [Daisuke] Long time no see,” [Daisuke] said.
“Oh you look so different,” [Yuka] said, “you were fat and always stayed at home before.”
[Daisuke] said, “I became a student in Japan. I go to school by foot every day and Japanese food is healthy. I threw away my computer. I can’t believe it myself.”
[Yuka] said, “I liked you more before.”

[Daisuke] is glad to see [Yuka].
She is surprised to see him changed.
He met her for the first time in China before studying abroad.
He became thin for her because he loves her.
She loved him too.
But his change disappointed her because she liked him more before.
His efforts were useless.

備えあれば...

備えあれば憂いなし: if you are well prepared, it is said, you need not worry.


I know I've mentioned professional development in passing before, Nick, but it really is one the major platforms of my tenure here in the Teaching Exchange Program.

It has been a key issue ever since I first interviewed for the position, where I received a slightly less-than-inspiring response to the question of employee-support after the termination of the three-year contract. Now I understand this is of no fault of the committee: as a de facto hiring firm, their job is to recommend the best candidate to the hiring agency, not dictate the terms of the position. And as a volunteer organization, they can offer the support and interest of the community, but make no promises or guarantees of post-employment placement. However, as someone who had to leave a very stable position with plenty of upward-mobility potential, moving even laterally to a place whose only guarantee was negative-mobility was daunting.

In talking about this issue with other foreign workers in various education positions throughout Kashiwa, it has become more and more clear that I need to continue to work to ensure that when I leave Ichikashi I take with me much more than just fond memories.

And while the onus to pursue professional development always falls on the employee, because of the very finite nature of this position, an emphasis of this program should be on fostering an atmosphere that illuminates the value of and encourages participation in continuing education, both in terms of practical skills via on-the-job training as well as academic theory and practice.

This would seem attractive in two ways:

First, in supporting ongoing professional development for even its temporary employees, Ichikashi would be better served by instructors who are trained in the newest techniques, guaranteeing that the foreign language teaching at Ichikashi would remain current and progressive. Ichikashi would then be at the forefront of Language Education, attracting high-quality candidate-students interested in receiving the most up-to-date and effective foreign language instruction and training.

The second is that in pursuing professional development, the workers themselves are better prepared and much more competitive when they re-enter the candidate pool with not only years of practical, in-class experience, but also technical training and certification which also acts as proof of an interest in ongoing training. This, in and of itself, is an asset for any employer looking for proactive, conscientious workers.

Such a change, in addition to fighting for the distinction of 外国語講師 (Foreign Language Instructor) over the oft-pejorative "ALT" title, should elevate the desirability of the position. Not only is the institution, then, seen as actively interested in the well-being and development of its employees--which makes the institution a desirable place to work for--but the Foreign Language Instructor position at Ichikashi avoids the stigma of being a "dead-end job" for people who lack ambition or a "sabbatical-position"--the kind of job one has to take a "break" from a "real career" to pursue.

Earlier I was talking to a colleague who works at the Board of Education as the Foreign Language Education Coordinator about the plethora of options available to any teacher living in Japan, and yet how hard it often seems to get people at any level of administration interested in investing

¹Even just "time."

¹ in the professional development of their small army of "temporary workers." It is not surprising as they are just temporary; after three years they practically disappear.

And partly it is that sort of casual dismissive thinking that hurts language teachers in Japan as it theoretically limits their value after matriculating through such programs. If these employees are not worth any professional investment from their current employer, they are hardly worth more potential investment by future employers. And, realistically, the observability of this end-result affects the kinds of applicants that would find such teaching opportunities interesting but who would also be deterred by such a potential "gap" in their resume.

I am not proposing that Ichikashi mandate professional development courses into their Exchange Teaching Program, but make accommodations for those teachers interested in professional development to make it a reasonable career path to pursue.

As the list of resources (CELTA, CertTESOL, DipTESOL, &tc.²

²Or how about even a JLPT?

) on the above-mentioned kALTitude website notes, a number of 3-month distance learning certification programs are available to educators, as well as one-month long intensives specifically targeted at teachers in Japan by being scheduled in August, the one month in the calendar year that Japanese teachers don't have any scheduled classes.

My proposition is this: at Ichikashi, as a full-time member of the faculty, we are expected to be on campus even during non-academic days, available to do work as needed, such as lesson preparation. However, teachers are allowed to take non-academic days off by using vacation days. As it stands, if I want to take part in the one-month CELTA certification program, I would have to use more than 18 of my vacation days. Yet if we consider the professional development of the Foreign Language Instructor as a functional part of "lesson preparation," a special dispensation could be made to allow for off-campus non-instructional work hours, akin to "chaperoning" or "off-site business meetings."

Once such an allowance is made then funding options could be considered. Though that may be one bridge too far.

Anyway, I incessantly remind Kashew that we need to constantly be looking forward to the day that we are no longer employed at Ichikashi. Unlike so many other jobs, we have the advantage of knowing well and good that our contracts are finitely

³*infinitely?

³ terminal. That means that at the end of our three years here, if we are mindful of our position, we can maneuver ourselves to be better situated, more experienced, and therefore much more desirable as hirable commodities when we leave.

While Ichikashi provides us with excellent opportunities for personal growth, we also need to continually be aware that personal growth does not easily show through on a paper resume. Rather, with our time at Ichikashi we can both grow personally and professionally and really create resumes of distinction. And if Ichikashi will allow itself to be a conduit through which professional development is not just offered but encouraged and fostered, it may be impossible to imagine how much more educationally effective and professionally desirable the Teaching Exchange Program can become.

Benzaiten by the Bay

At approximately 2.5 miles in circumference¹

¹Yahoo!Answers assures me that it should take no longer than 40 minutes to circumnavigate. Don’t you tempt me, Yahoo!Answers!

, Enoshima (江ノ島) is a small island off the Kanagawa (神奈川) coast only a few stops from the 大仏 in Hase (長谷) along the historic, beach-gliding Enoden Train Line (江ノ島電鉄).

Dedicated to Benzaiten, the Buddhist goddess of 'everything that flows,' the once-sacred island hangs at the end of a tombolo, an emerald necklace that dangles into the Pacific blue from the proud neck of 神奈川県.

Believed to be raised from the sea floor by the goddess herself, the island houses three temples in her honor, the most notable of which memorializes her love affair with and then subsequent banishment of a five headed dragon that had begun terrorizing the island and surrounding area. Well, technically, the most notable temple is the one with a nude statue sculpted in her honor, but the dragon one has to be at least top two.


The main draw of the island, apart from its adopted tropical feel and semi-decent views of the southern coast, are the Iwaya (岩屋) Caves.

At the end of an arduous hike up and down OSHA-disapproved stairs over the twin-peaks that make up the core of Enoshima²

²Heaven forbid that a Japanese monk dare to walk BETWEEN two hills.

, one finds a slippery-when-wet walkway among tidal pools and sharp fangs of death that leads to a set of turnstiles [¥$5].

These cool, quiet caves are a relaxing return to the more touristy philosophies of Japan.

      
Carved out of the side of the rock-face by centuries of waves, the narrow, low-ceilinged bores offer tourists a genuine Legend of Zelda experience, complete with random Buddha statuettes floating in calm, dark cave ponds, carvings of dragons guarding semi-precious stones, and even a couple of hovering, illuminated triforce symbols.

Okay, so they are rather the family crest (家紋) of the 北条 (ほうじょう) Clan, prolific in the Kanagawa area as the Kamakura Shogunate. But as it stands, the more I explore Japan, the more I realize that Japanese videogames were interesting not for what appeared to be their astounding creativity in producing magical other-worlds, but in their ability to recognize these other worlds in their backyards and incorporate them into their design.

However, probably of more interest³

³Or, “Of interest to more people.”

, is that the second of the two caves is dedicated to the dragon deity that once inhabited the island. Complete with carved, gold-leafed statues and jewel encrusted figurines, the East-Cave of Iwaya stands in reverence to the monster that long ago terrorized the residents of Kanagawa.

Of course, the other legends say that this dragon-terror came as a response to the prayers of 北条 時政 (ときまさ・ほうじょう), the first Hojo Regent. The story goes that Hojo arrived on the island of Enoshima bearing with him prayer and supplication for the prosperity of his offspring (then the father-in-law of 源 頼朝, みなもと・の・よりとも, the first shogunate of Kamakura). At his call, a dragon appeared⁴

⁴I like to imagine it was all Dragon-Ball-like. No, not that Dragon Ball… THIS Dragon Ball.

, answering his prayer with a promise of protection for the harbor, a promise sealed with three triangular dragon scales, which is at the root of the design of their kamon.

Now, a few logistics: the far side of the island pretty much runs on temple-time. This basically means that everything closes in time for the early-bird special. This usually means that, in the summer, everything closes before the sun goes down at around 5. However, it will probably take you only 120 minutes to walk through most of the ‘historical’ parts of the island⁵

⁵I’m not quite sure what the Japanese conversion is on that, but most of that time will be comprised of you getting TO the historical parts of the island.

.

That being said, it is a nice half-day excursion. Trying to pack it in with Kamakura, however, was a little dicey, as all we could really do was get to Enoshima, take the escalators, and then run to the caves before everything closed. Of course, that did offer us a nice, leisurely stroll back through the quaint island village, as there is literally only one road that bisects the island. It’s pretty hard to miss something.

Speaking of the escalators, do it. Don’t be that fool. Now there aren’t a lot of stairs, perse. Not at least compared to Zhangjiajie City or Abhaneri, but even then, what you save in terms of efficiency-for-cost just cannot be beat. After all, even if you get a curious longing for what sights you’d possibly miss by taking the express escalator, rest assured: the escalators only go up so you’ll be walking down every single one of those stairs in the end.

But we’re getting ahead of ourselves.

Your approach begins, as most do in Japan, as a long walk from the train station through a quaint village town remarkable for its unremarkable Miami Beachfront impression. Actually, with its broadly appealing, flat wood-scaping, gravel lawns and stenciled palm trees, it felt more like approaching Redondo Beach from Knob Hill or Avenue G.

This short downhill ends at the bottom of a 4-way road underpass that births you out in front of a half-mile long walkway that buttresses a narrow shoal connecting Enoshima to the larger landmass. Pro-tip regarding this bridge: take the bus.

The entire approach, with camera in hand, I was hoping to experience one of those ‘cresting’ moments, where, because sightlines become obscured by the rise of the bridge, the divine breeches into view at the crest of the cobbled walkway as a beautiful gem pulled from the depths of the sea, glistening in the high, nautical sun. But the approach offers no such reveal. And while the island is a delightful mossy marble floating on haze and currents, skirted in the muted tones of luxury spas and patchwork village port town, there is nothing that would be lost seen through a metro-bus window.


And yet, just as unremarkable as the approach is is the port town built to act as your reception: an indiscernible hodgepodge of buildings and luxury spas of no particular make or influence. One immediately gets the sense that this particular style of unremarkableness hides a particularly remarkable secret.

But it’s no secret.

Since its founding as a pleasure garden in the late 19th century, Enoshima has since grown to become the heart of Shonan, a resort area that runs along the coast of Sagami Bay, which features the closest sandy beaches to the Kanto area.

In particular, what is not so interesting is that its beaches are kinda bland, and surf particularly weak, and the island has no direct access to natural hot-spring water. So one wonders what exactly made Enoshima, the sacred island, such a leisure hot-spot in the first place.

Nearly 20 years into their rule, and more than 10 after moving the capitol from Kyoto to Tokyo, the Meiji government [明治政府 (めいじせいふ)], in its bid to restore Japan to a more pure form of Japaneseness, wrote into law a separation of Shintoism and Buddhism in a policy called 神仏分離 (しんぶつぶんり)⁶

⁶カシェウ Saiz: Buddhism first entered into Japan during the Asuka period, at which time Shinto was the official religion of the royal family. However, under the guidance of Prince Shotoku Taishi (574-622AD), a Buddhist state was established by syncretizing both systems of deities, allowing Buddhism to gain a foothold in society, which only flourished during the Tokugawa period. Beginning in 1633, in response to the influx of Western trade and influence, Japan closed its gates (鎖国) and put a heavy emphasis on Buddhism to stem the spread of Christianity. While this effectively pushed Christianity out of Japan, this move towards Buddhism meant that more and more individuals were straying away from the country’s mother religion. Under the auspice of returning Japan to its Japanese roots during the Meiji Restoration (1868) the government tried to recenter the country on Shinto principles (which conveniently would include the deification of the Emperor) by installing a new policy: The Shinbutsu-Bunri. The policy’s written focus was to separate the Buddhist and Shinto states from each other. However, in actuality, the policy was cause to forcibly remove Buddhism from Shinto. This lead to the desecration of many temples with much of the land being taken and sold to merchants. The few who were able to maintain their properties did so by forging new temple histories. However, by falsifying these historical records to preserve the temple sites, the original stories have been lost forever.

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This new law forced the release of Buddhist-held properties, including the sacred island of Enoshima, opening the door for land prospectors to swoop in to develop the most coveted and picturesque real estate of the time: temple property. In 1880, one Samuel Cocking, a British merchant wed to a Japanese woman, used his wife’s registry to purchase much of the under-developed high lands, turning it into a luxury garden and thriving port-town.

Kashew and I didn’t take the time to walk the pay-to-see luxury gardens, though the rest of the island’s pleasure gardens are quite quaint and relaxing. The Cocking-areas are, more or less, appropriately named for being romantically themed with snug benches possessing overlooking views of the shore or sea. They’re cute, even if it weren’t for the overabundance of friendly cats. But, again, the work-husband and I did not venture into the heart of the Love-Tunnel that was the Samuel Cocking Garden and Greenhouse. And phallicly inspired Observation Tower.

It’s a solid recommendation for anyone who has only a few things left to do in Kamakura for a second or third trip. Much more relaxing than fighting tourists in Hase or pounding the pavement in Kita-Kamakura. Of course, now I have to go back because we didn’t allocate enough time to see the Enoshima Aquarium, which was not actually on the island. Nor was it particularly visible from the island.

Tour Grounds

I’m sorry it’s been such a long time since I last posted. I know that no excuse of busyness is weighty enough to disabuse one’s blog-reading faithful, that perhaps only death is reason enough to miss a post or two. But let me tell you that gastroenteritis feels a lot like what I imagine death would feel like.

      
So, Nick, the Torrance Delegation has come and gone, blown in and out like the first spring winds¹

¹Note that Japan has a term for the first wind storm of the spring, 初風 (はつかぜ). This season's first wind with gusts up to 60kph over three days. With it came the season's first aerosol pollution and yellow sand from across the Japan Sea.

. Over that time there had been more than one long day of sightseeing, more than one high-stakes political dinner, and more than one parade of speeches (in two languages). But there was only one Ichikashi Presentation, and only one Ichikashi Campus Tour.

And while I feel like we did an admirable job, the gravity of the event, in terms of both the ELT-program’s

²New official title: 外国語講師.

² as well as Kashew and my own reputation, does warrant some reflection.

I will spare you the nitty-gritty of the specific review; rather, I want to talk about the pre-planning strategy.

Determining scope based on perceived needs.

Obviously, it was important for us when considering what kind of presentation to give to the delegation to determine what kind of information the delegation would find relevant and interesting. Of course all of the standard information had to be there (such as a brief history of the campus and curriculum), but it would be the inclusion of and emphasis on information that they would find unique or otherwise unexplained that would make the presentation feel like a worthwhile expenditure of their time.

Thusly, we were required to ask of ourselves some very basic questions: why did the delegation specifically request to see a Japanese school on this trip? what other places and cultural activities would they participate in before (and after) coming to Ichikashi, especially those regarding forums of education? and what expertise and interest would the delegates bring with them that would influence the types of questions they would have or need answered?

Such questions were used to better anticipate the types of information that would most likely be of interest as well as earmark what information would be redundant and, therefore, could be glossed.

In looking at their schedule, we realized two things: 1) they were going to be very busy and, 2) coming to Ichikashi would be their only opportunity to see a Japanese school first hand.

And while the first point allowed us to predict that fatigue would be a major factor in our presentation³

³Which was scheduled to occur in the late afternoon before a mayoral banquet.

, encouraging brevity, the second allowed us to tailor our presentation to spend a majority of our time illuminating what it means to be a high school student in Japan from the administrative/programmatic perspective as well as illustrate activities and events that define Ichikashi life.

This was particularly relevant after reviewing the list of attendees. We found out that most of the delegates were from the Torrance City Council (including the mayor and a former mayor), and a good number had spent many years of service in local public education (including a former member of the board of education as well as the first Ichikashi ALT). We would then have to make sure that our presentation spent a good amount of time on educational politics.

So, with that being said, we knew what they would most likely be interested in: information regarding the administrative and structural differences in education between Torrance and Kashiwa. We then knew we had to talk about things like Municipal v. Prefectural v. National funding, open enrollment, and 10-year teacher rotations, in addition to the local processes of homeroom and classroom construction (both literally and figuratively).

And as TSCA representatives, Kashew and I afforded an insider’s working knowledge of Japan, and would thusly be expected to act as a cultural conduit through which the delegates could ask cultural questions without any reservation or fear of offense.

Discerning the disparity among needs.

And yet, even with this information prepared in advance, we were met with a bit of reticence in our first committee meeting. And while I will spare you the grosser details, we should let it suffice to say that what was at odds between us, as presenters, and them, as administration, was an unstated gap of perceived needs. That is the administration had some concerns that were not satiated by the outline laid out before them.

And this is fair. But it also made some of the people on the presentation-side a little upset as they felt like their ideas were left ignored in favor of a pre-decided administration-derived plan. They felt it was a waste of time for us to go to an "ideation" meeting to discuss needs when in reality we ended up just being told what our needs needed to be by the administration.

But I see it like this: an open forum of discussion is not democratic, like we pretend democracy to be. It is, after all, autocratic when a boss is involved. The openness of the forum certainly allows for all needs to be aired and made known, but these needs are not equal but are hierarchical. And while a need brought up by one of lower standing may be elevated by those higher than him as previously unconsidered, no particular need can supplant those of the boss without first satiating that need.

That is to say, simply, such meetings are a sale pitches: one must distract the potential buyer from his present concerns before supplanting them with concerns of your own making, for which you can then sell your own solution.

Bridging the gap.

Especially as the presentation was going to be offered to local Kashiwa officials as well as the Torrance Delegation, it became quite clear early on that one of the most important needs of the administration was to affirm the many ways that Ichikashi is unique among it's "competitors" (the 県立, 国立 and 私立 schools in the 関東 area). This is a valid need that could not be ignored, and one that would probably be of passing interest to those involved with TSCA. So the whole second half of the presentation was dedicated to the accolades of the various educational and club programs on campus.

This was a felt need that was easily satisfied and should have been included from the beginning. But there were other issues that were closely tied into this.

For example, in the initially proposed itinerary, very little time was afforded to a campus tour as such a thing was considered very unnecessary. Rather, the bulk of the two hours the delegation would spend at Ichikashi was allocated to a presentation about Ichikashi.

The argument that was presented, repeatedly, was that the delegation did not travel 5000 miles to Tokyo and 40 minutes by bus to come to Ichikashi to be shown pictures of Ichikashi.

After this proposition's initial failure, I felt like continuing to repeat this was the wrong tact to take.

Essentially, the best approach to moving a buttressed wall is not to push against it, but to discern which direction the buttress leans and pull in agreement to that plane. What we had to do was discern why there was hesitance in offering a tour and satisfy that concern before we could replace it with our own.

The interesting story that came out of it was the story we led off with in the tour:

This classroom is 2I. You may be wondering why we decided to show you this room. After all, there are no decorations and so it is virtually indistinguishable from every other classroom that we just passed by. Actually, that is why we wanted to show you this room: every classroom at Ichikashi, from 一A組 to 三S組, from 鹿児島 to札幌, looks pretty much exactly like this. From the west-facing windows and the north-facing wall, all classrooms in Japan look just like this.

And, really, this is why we had to convince the administration that a tour would be interesting. "Why would they want a tour of the school," they asked. "Every room looks exactly the same everywhere in Japan! Wouldn't they much rather sit in the comfortable new Arena?"

The administration's concern was that in order to be a good host they would make sure that their guests were as comfortable as possible. That there was no reason to require that a delegation of 56 70-year-olds walk around campus under the assumption that every school looks exactly the same: what could they possibly learn from seeing all of the same?

What we, then, needed to do was show them that their concern was valid, but its application misplaced.

Rather than pursuing comfort and the distribution of information as the primary function of a good host, we had to show them that while this may work in hosting a team of Japanese delegates already familiar with a Japanese schoolhouse, when hosting American delegates one must have other considerations in mind, including a hands-on tour. In order to be a good host to the Torrance delegation, they had to reconsider what ‘hosting’ meant.

Once that assurance was made—that we all agreed that our foremost role would be to ensure that Ichikashi acted a good host to leave a lasting impression upon the delegates—we could then begin to negotiate the meaning of what, exactly, it meant to be a good host.

And it went off, more or less, without a hitch. Everyone had their charm turned up to 11, Kashew and I had gone over the Ichikashi-factbook with a fine-toothed comb, and were spouting off facts and figures to the astonishment of all: Ichikashi has around 200 members involved in 吹奏楽部, making it 1/5 the total student body; 93% of all of our students are involved in at least one club on campus; Ichikashi sees 400 students test annually to enter and accepts only 300; 87% of all students who enter Ichikashi go on to some form of tertiary education. The statistics are fractally endless.

      

      
Anyway, sorry for utter lack of posts, but I’ve been doing a lot of other-kinds-of-writing. I could post those, but I don’t think there’s much interest in half-edited lesson outlines, presentation speeches and schedule frameworks. Then again, there may be a budding market for erotic haikus and twitter reviews of leaked albums…

40x40

On February 20, 2013, Kashiwa, Chiba and Torrance, California will have celebrated the 40th anniversary of their sister-city relationship. And while the Teaching Exchange Program between the two international-relations organizations has not yet quite hit 40 years itself, with the hiring of Matthew Medlock

¹That's カシュー to you and me.

¹, Kashiwa Municipal High School (Ichikashi) has seen 40 different exchange teachers since the program's institution in 1979.

As Matthew and I enter into the second year of the fortieth cycle of the Teaching Exchange Program, especially in respect to the upcoming 40th anniversary celebration, we have taken a bit of time to look back at how things have changed since the late 1970s.

At the center of our program still remains cultural exchange and language training. The preponderance of our curriculum focuses on general composition for third-year students, as well as advanced-level preparatory college language training for exams and interviews. Additionally, we instruct two separate units of oral communication for specific purposes for second-year students, the first being an elective general study, while the second is an intensive language training class for Ichikashi's second-year International Studies course (国際科) and their corresponding school excursion to America in November.

Since arriving in Kashiwa to assume my post at the head of these classes, I have continually been astounded by the incredible level of support that we receive from our administration. For all the passion the city has at the political level for the Teaching Exchange Program, the practicalities are a burden to bear upon the heart of the local administration for hosting the exchange teachers. And here at Ichikashi, we have been blessed to have had Mr. Hideonobu Suda as principal (校長) for the last three years.

It has been Suda-先生's goal in his tenure at Kashiwa Municipal to increase the exposure and impact of exchange programs upon Ichikashi's student body. Since his arrival, he has made it a priority to ensure the viability of Ichikashi's student exchange programs, not just with Torrance, but with their sister cities in Australia and China.


Likewise, it has been under Suda-先生's guidance that the Kashiwa Teaching Exchange Program has undergone it's most drastic transformation away from assistant language teaching.

Whereas in the old days, all classes would be taught in tandem with a Japanese language-native homeroom teacher, currently the Exchange Program instructors conduct classes without the assistance of such a "JLT," leading lessons of their own design, transitioning the role from an "Assistant Language Teacher" to a full-fledged "English Language Teacher." In fact, many of Ichikashi's flagship programs for the International Course, such as the annual English Camp, have been placed completely under the purview of the ELTs.

Over the years, the Teaching Exchange Program has provided Ichikashi with a high level of student output, by palpably increasing student performance in standardized tests, in addition to helping to place graduates in international schools and prestigious universities throughout Japan, all while maintaining national excellence in sports and the arts.

Since 2005, we have had 208 students take and pass at least one of any of the five levels of the Eiken English Proficiency Exam. And while the overall number of our students who pass any level of the Eiken has declined recently (from 29 and 34 in 2005 and '06 to 19 and 25 in 2010 and '11), the percentage of students who have taken and passed the highest levels of the Eiken (for our purposes, Pre-1st and 2nd Grade) has gradually been increasing. There is a thought that the curriculum change in 2009 to accommodate a larger emphasis on sports clubs has adversely affected interest and preparation for the Eiken. However, the proportion of students who successfully take Eiken Grade-2--the language requirement for second-tier schools such as Kanda--has remained relatively consistent throughout the years.

Similarly, over the last four years there has been an increase in the number of students (82.7% - 87.4%, +4.7%) who attend college after leaving Ichikashi (either a 4-year college, 2-year college, or specialty vocational/trade school--専門学校), including an upward trend within the Foreign Language Department (80.4% - 92.5%, +12.1%)

²Fun fact: the Sports Science Course (スポーツ科学科), the second of the two specialty courses offered at Ichikashi, placed 91.2% of it's students last year in college.

².

Upon matriculation, with regularity, these students can expect to be prepared with an education worthy of entrance into the top 25-30th percentile of private universities in Japan, which includes acceptance to schools such as Kanda Gaigo and Komazawa, with many of our top students finding acceptance in top-tier universities, including admission to Aoyama Gakkuin, Tokodai and Waseda.


Figuring that the effectiveness of the program is rooted in the cultural experience of an American-education sensibility in consultation with the copious native resources at the English language teachers' disposal, such consistent, high-level output has been rewarded, administratively, with trust and a hands-off approach. And while this may be the dream arrangement for many educators, often it is not without struggle and confusion for the ELTs, some of whom arrive at the front doors of Ichikashi with very limited experience in lesson or program planning.

Even more so, such institutional freedom is not limited to the academic aspect of high school education. Once settled into the routine of lesson planning, teaching, and managing the campus English Conversation Club, the ELTs are encouraged to pursue as many avenues for cultural exchange and education for personal growth as time would allow.

Not only do we find a ready conversation in English with the 11 other teachers in the Foreign Language Department

³Fun fact: Ichikashi is one of the few schools in all of Chiba that offers a Chinese Language Program. In addition to having one full-time Chinese teacher in residence, we also host 2 part-time Chinese ALTs.

³, just about everyone on campus is more than willing to share with us their little piece of Japan, whether that be their slice of the office in the home economics hall, weekly contemplation on their hobbies and crafts like 書道 or 生け花, or personal travel recommendations for trips to and around hometowns. It is actively promoted that we ingratiate ourselves into the communal fabric of Ichikashi, and not just in the teachers' office.

If given the interest and wherewithal, Ichikashi ELTs are highly encouraged and soundly welcomed to incorporate themselves into club activities. My predecessor, Geoff, regularly participated in basketball practices and even Matthew has begun contemplating visiting the volleyball club at the request of the boys’ head volleyball coach. I find myself in the 柔道場 most weekdays and just about every weekend, where my duties include assisting the coach with clerical duties and chaperoning, impromptu English quizzes in vocabulary and culture, and even training for my own 黒帯試合.

For as much as this opportunity continues to offer us personal and professional challenges that will undoubtedly benefit us in whatever careers we pursue in the near future, it is our desire to do our part to ensure that the Exchange Teaching Program continues to grow, as the campus itself continues to expand with new classrooms and athletic facilities to suit the ever changing needs of education in the twenty-first century.

Certainly, Ichikashi has long been an attractive destination among Kanto high schools for its specialty clubs, drawing students from all over Chiba and Tokyo for sports and music

⁴Fun fact: 1/5th of our student body belongs to 吹奏楽部.

⁴, some who commute two hours by bike, train and bus from places like Tokyo to come to Ichikashi. Ichikashi is also well positioned to take advantage of its unique access to resources in terms of English language and intercultural exchange, and as such, we look to continue to challenge the ELT program to grow into an international-education program befitting a campus of Ichikashi's stature.

In addition to attempting to solidify a reusable lesson cycle for the composition and oral communication courses, a main target we have is to see the expansion of the ELTs and the English Conversation Club footprint locally and in the broader Kashiwa community. For example, at school, twice a week we lead "Lunch with Kevin and Matthew," a focused English conversation opportunity for every student enrolled in the International Course. Recently, we have tasked the ECC with leading these discussions, creating safe spaces on campus for language exploration and exercise for non-ECC students.

Off campus, we are looking to improve Ichikashi's standing within the community by pursuing programs such as ECC English tutoring to positively impact the area through English education. Additionally, we have turned an eye to improving Ichikashi's standing in the academic sphere by increasing participation in community academic events such as speech contests and the Eiken Exam, which will be done in tandem with reviewing best teaching practices to more directly and accurately target English for the specific purposes of testing.

Individually, as instructors, we are continuing to build the credibility of Ichikashi in the community at large by participating in Kashiwa city functions, as well as being active members of community groups such as the Kashiwa International Relations Organization by teaching weekend English classes, judging speech contests, or helping out at their annual matsuri.

And yet, just as importantly, we seek to diligently remember to act as a bridge between the ALTs and ELTs that came before us by setting up means and relationships through which we can pass on what knowledge and experience we gained to those that are yet to come. After all, a target goal of the program should be to train the Exchange Teachers for life after Ichikashi.

While a member of the Ichikashi community, a mentorship objective should be assiduously pointing its teachers forward in the anticipation of the expiration of their maximum three-term contract. This not only entails providing on-the-job training in both teaching and lesson planning, but also provide experience in administrative tasks such as program planning (from conception to coordination to completion to review) and management for both professional and personal development.

The Kashiwa Teaching Exchange Program has historically acted as a springboard for its constituents, seeing former employees move on to rewarding careers in and out of education as teachers, professors, counselors, administrators, businessmen, and entrepreneurs.


Every day we are exposed to the benefits of cultural exchange, how students' lives are impacted and influenced by the work of TSCA and KIRA by bringing two distant and distinct parts of the world together. We are excited by the privilege and honored by the responsibility of being included in the historic tradition of the Teaching Exchange Program passed on to us as by those that came before. Likewise, we look forward to the day when we too will hand off the privilege and responsibility of ELT instruction to those that will come after us and hope that we have done our part as stewards to usher the program into its next 40 years.