About twice a week I am able to bum copies of the Daily Yomiuri, Japan's largest English newspaper, from one of my coworkers. Despite having some articles purchased from my own Washington Post and great coverage of all the world's sports, the paper is about the only chance I have to follow Japanese events from Japan's perspective. Following politics, especially the new dispute regarding the Senkaku Islands, has been interesting to say the least. (For all we hear about other nations wanting the US out of foreign affairs, it appears Japan wants the US to take a greater roll in the dispute.)
However, a few weeks ago, I came across a far more intriguing article about Japan's plan to send about 1000 Japanese teachers to live and work in the US. Unfortunately, I have not been able to find the original article online. However, with the JET program (the original government run program that sent English teachers to Japan) coming to a close, Japan is seeking newer and cheaper options to educate their students in English.
Of course, one might argue that companies like mine pose an alternative to Japan's new plan. Perhaps, but the truth is that there are plenty of other problems that come with importing Assistant Language Teachers (as we are known) to Japan. The first, most distinguishable problem is a lack of training. Some ALTs come to other countries with both training and experience in the profession, but most, (like myself) post that they know the name Stephen Krashen* as their biggest qualification on their resumes.
So, what does one do in that situation? I do believe I am a fairly capable teacher although I found the learning curve quite steep at my job's start. But how does one ethically approach teaching a subject for which he can offer virtually no credentials to support his supposed expertise?
In high school, I was known for writing fairly vitriolic satires about teachers, ones that led to serious arguments. Although I have now had an opportunity to view the other side of the coin (and prior to that acknowledged that my satires were a bit harsh) I do still think I had a solid question, one that is a natural question in American high school culture: 'Who exactly are you to teach this?'
In this case, the teachers in question had to go through a serious level of training and obtain two degrees. While this would likely not satisfy my high school self, I am more inclined to recognize a strong level of credibility as a result, credibility I lack. So once again, what is the ethical approach a non-teacher teacher must take?
It's not a question I've found a satisfactory answer for, as yet. All I can do is read as much as I can about the issues Japanese students have with English, analyze where my students are struggling and plan accordingly. But I think this is an important question for everyone in my line of work. Or we may soon find ourselves no longer employed. The the JET program is dying and Japan is seeking alternatives. Third party companies like mine are eager to step up, yet also come with serious draw backs.
http://www.yomiuri.co.jp/dy/features/language/T100815001255.htm
So, against a host of problems, the only thing native English speaking teachers seem to bring to the table are....themselves?
A teacher's conscience would be a nice bargaining chip.
Monday, November 8, 2010
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
My first (three) weeks on the job
It may still be too early to tell, but I think I love my job.
That was meant to be my opening line describing my first week in Tahara. Then it was meant to be a description of my first two weeks. Now, I'm forced to use it to describe my first three weeks. As they say, time makes fools of us all.
Where has the time gone? Well, to a number of different things, to my new job, (which I shall describe in a moment) to exploring my new home, (which I shall describe in my next entry) and to two festivals in the city, (one of which I will use in a later entry to explain flaws in the American educational system).
But first, let me describe my new position: professional charades player. Apparently, there are places in the world that will pay you to play charades. And I am not even amongst the world's greatest players, as my family will attest. I am likely not even in the top fifty. Actually, calling myself a professional charades player may be giving my job too many layers of complexity. In charades you are expected not to talk.
Of course, I am (partly) kidding. My new job is to teach English to Japanese high school students, being paid to play charades is just a byproduct.
My students have been excellent, for the most part. However, the effects of the Japanese cultural system on educational culture have been widely exaggerated. Students remain the same wherever you go, I believe.
My coworkers have also been fun to work with. Again, this is a place where I believe my expectations were misinformed. Everyone (who speaks English) has been wonderful about speaking with me and making me feel welcome. They have enjoyed speaking with me about foreign and domestic politics. They've spoken to me at length about America and Japan. The vast majority have even visited Washington DC. And the ones who don't speak English are still friendly, just a little more shy.
There has been one mistake that has united my experiences with both students and my teacher coworkers though. In both cases, I woefully underestimated the amount of knowledge they both had regarding English and America. My basis for my poor and wrong assumptions were my experiences with Spanish and my general knowledge of Japan. However, my students knowledge of English has been truly superb. My ultimate goal, therefore, has not necessarily been to teach. Rather, I have attempted to give my students a chance to practice what they already know.
Likewise, when discussing America with my coworkers, I am surprised by their knowledge of the country. Of course, America makes news all over the world but that did not lead me to believe that their knowledge would be so specific. (I remember going through the 'Great Japan Scare' in the 1990s, yet my knowledge of Japan remained limited.) Before my first trip to Japan, I could locate Tokyo and (I like to believe) Kyoto and Okinawa, but specific knowledge beyond that was beyond me. All my knowledge of Japanese history, beyond major world events and information I gleaned from Japanese cultural forms, came from my reading list, extracted over the past three months. And yet, information about America seems common knowledge.
There have been situations where I have assumed too much. I constantly speak too quickly with my coworkers. Maintaining a steady pace with my students is no trouble, but it is easy for me to forget that English is not my coworkers' first language. I hope to make simple, direct dialogue my specialty before I am through in Japan.
Thus far, it has been a wonderful experience and I look forward to describing many more mistakes here in the months to come.
That was meant to be my opening line describing my first week in Tahara. Then it was meant to be a description of my first two weeks. Now, I'm forced to use it to describe my first three weeks. As they say, time makes fools of us all.
Where has the time gone? Well, to a number of different things, to my new job, (which I shall describe in a moment) to exploring my new home, (which I shall describe in my next entry) and to two festivals in the city, (one of which I will use in a later entry to explain flaws in the American educational system).
But first, let me describe my new position: professional charades player. Apparently, there are places in the world that will pay you to play charades. And I am not even amongst the world's greatest players, as my family will attest. I am likely not even in the top fifty. Actually, calling myself a professional charades player may be giving my job too many layers of complexity. In charades you are expected not to talk.
Of course, I am (partly) kidding. My new job is to teach English to Japanese high school students, being paid to play charades is just a byproduct.
My students have been excellent, for the most part. However, the effects of the Japanese cultural system on educational culture have been widely exaggerated. Students remain the same wherever you go, I believe.
My coworkers have also been fun to work with. Again, this is a place where I believe my expectations were misinformed. Everyone (who speaks English) has been wonderful about speaking with me and making me feel welcome. They have enjoyed speaking with me about foreign and domestic politics. They've spoken to me at length about America and Japan. The vast majority have even visited Washington DC. And the ones who don't speak English are still friendly, just a little more shy.
There has been one mistake that has united my experiences with both students and my teacher coworkers though. In both cases, I woefully underestimated the amount of knowledge they both had regarding English and America. My basis for my poor and wrong assumptions were my experiences with Spanish and my general knowledge of Japan. However, my students knowledge of English has been truly superb. My ultimate goal, therefore, has not necessarily been to teach. Rather, I have attempted to give my students a chance to practice what they already know.
Likewise, when discussing America with my coworkers, I am surprised by their knowledge of the country. Of course, America makes news all over the world but that did not lead me to believe that their knowledge would be so specific. (I remember going through the 'Great Japan Scare' in the 1990s, yet my knowledge of Japan remained limited.) Before my first trip to Japan, I could locate Tokyo and (I like to believe) Kyoto and Okinawa, but specific knowledge beyond that was beyond me. All my knowledge of Japanese history, beyond major world events and information I gleaned from Japanese cultural forms, came from my reading list, extracted over the past three months. And yet, information about America seems common knowledge.
There have been situations where I have assumed too much. I constantly speak too quickly with my coworkers. Maintaining a steady pace with my students is no trouble, but it is easy for me to forget that English is not my coworkers' first language. I hope to make simple, direct dialogue my specialty before I am through in Japan.
Thus far, it has been a wonderful experience and I look forward to describing many more mistakes here in the months to come.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Which direction does an E point?
I may have set the bar too high in my aspirations for coming to Japan, despite my only goal being not to embarrass myself. But I still maintain that the incidents regarding the medical exam I underwent on Friday for my job were not wholly my fault. After all, which direction does an E point anyway?
It's like asking which direction a square points, it technically has four corners so it points in four different directions. Now I know a few of you would assume, as I would, that it is not the corners that determine the direction of an E, but the spaces in between the actual letter.
(For those of you not following, and believe me when I say I empathize with you allow me to draw you a map).
E < Space in between the middle and bottom branch of the E. Note how, like the arrow head pointing at the E, the empty space flows freely to the right, but technically points to the left.
In this case, the assumption that space determines the letter's direction is correct, but it then begs the question, which way do we follow the spaces? Do we follow them to the right of the E, out to the free open, or are then instead, like an arrow head, pointing to the left?
Its a fine debate to be sure, worthy of possibly 30 maybe even 40 seconds of discussion. But, as I am in a foreign country, a discussion that ought to take three seconds usually takes about 20 minutes and an interpreter. I'm actually in the market for a math major who can create an equation so I'll know how long a simple conversation will take. Then I can decide if I want to invest the time.
Or better yet, I can put a picture of it on my wall as motivation for studying Japanese.
All this gets away from the actual event, the medical exam. It was just a simple check up, I was weighed, measured, had an ECG done, had blood drawn, had a hearing test done and finally concluded the exam with a vision test.
In front of me sat the typical vision test microscope. On the outside of it sat a guide to the letters that presumably were inside the microscope, namely Es of various directions, one facing left, right, upward and downward. Under each of these was an assigned direction, left, right, top and under. So yes, there was a guide available for me to follow so that I might learn how to describe an E's direction, but it is my opinion that this guide was a sick joke only meant to torment me further. I could not, after all, see the guide from inside the microscope.
On top of this, inside the microscope were there were five rows, alternating between numbers and Es. The end result was a vision chart that looked something like this.
1 2 3 4 5
E E E E E
6 7 8 9 10
E E E E E
11 12
E E
Of course, the chart had the Es decreasing in size and the direction of the E altered. But this is generally what the chart looked like. Thus, when the tester asked me what direction the number six E was pointing by saying "Six" I emphatically stated right.
This was the correct answer....for the number one E. Meanwhile, the tester, who I can only assume thought that I knew I needed a new pair of glasses and was trying to get out of buying them, sat dumbstruck. I, on the other hand, could not figure out how I could have misread the largest E on the vision test board. So I backed away and began viciously examining the guide to what direction an E pointed. The chart clearly stated that I had given the correct answer for the E that I had read.
After a few more minutes of having an E direction discussion between myself and the tester, a translator came to mediate between us. It was the translator who gave me the revelation that if I just followed the E's spaces, I would find the correct answer.
"But," I thought to myself, "That's the opposite direction implied on the chart!"
It was not actually the opposite direction implied on the chart. The translator meant for me to follow the spaces outside the E. The problem was, I had tried that method already to no avail. The translator had now given me an excuse to believe that the chart was actually incorrect.
The test was repeated then for a number of minutes until finally my tester became fed up and simply said, "One!" And, to my chagrin, I realized that it was not a communication error, it was not a translation error, it was not even a problem of direction. Apparently, I don't have the ability to count.
So, after many attempts to persuade a very skeptical tester that I can actually see (even if it is my brain's only apparent function) and proffering numerous 'Gomen Nasais' for the time I wasted, I managed to leave there with everything but my pride intact.
I am slightly looking forward to my first visit to a Japanese eye doctor, however.
(Writer's note: my aunt was kind enough to provide me with an equation for determining the length of a simple conversation in a foreign country. It is as follows:
It's like asking which direction a square points, it technically has four corners so it points in four different directions. Now I know a few of you would assume, as I would, that it is not the corners that determine the direction of an E, but the spaces in between the actual letter.
(For those of you not following, and believe me when I say I empathize with you allow me to draw you a map).
E < Space in between the middle and bottom branch of the E. Note how, like the arrow head pointing at the E, the empty space flows freely to the right, but technically points to the left.
In this case, the assumption that space determines the letter's direction is correct, but it then begs the question, which way do we follow the spaces? Do we follow them to the right of the E, out to the free open, or are then instead, like an arrow head, pointing to the left?
Its a fine debate to be sure, worthy of possibly 30 maybe even 40 seconds of discussion. But, as I am in a foreign country, a discussion that ought to take three seconds usually takes about 20 minutes and an interpreter. I'm actually in the market for a math major who can create an equation so I'll know how long a simple conversation will take. Then I can decide if I want to invest the time.
Or better yet, I can put a picture of it on my wall as motivation for studying Japanese.
All this gets away from the actual event, the medical exam. It was just a simple check up, I was weighed, measured, had an ECG done, had blood drawn, had a hearing test done and finally concluded the exam with a vision test.
In front of me sat the typical vision test microscope. On the outside of it sat a guide to the letters that presumably were inside the microscope, namely Es of various directions, one facing left, right, upward and downward. Under each of these was an assigned direction, left, right, top and under. So yes, there was a guide available for me to follow so that I might learn how to describe an E's direction, but it is my opinion that this guide was a sick joke only meant to torment me further. I could not, after all, see the guide from inside the microscope.
On top of this, inside the microscope were there were five rows, alternating between numbers and Es. The end result was a vision chart that looked something like this.
1 2 3 4 5
E E E E E
6 7 8 9 10
E E E E E
11 12
E E
Of course, the chart had the Es decreasing in size and the direction of the E altered. But this is generally what the chart looked like. Thus, when the tester asked me what direction the number six E was pointing by saying "Six" I emphatically stated right.
This was the correct answer....for the number one E. Meanwhile, the tester, who I can only assume thought that I knew I needed a new pair of glasses and was trying to get out of buying them, sat dumbstruck. I, on the other hand, could not figure out how I could have misread the largest E on the vision test board. So I backed away and began viciously examining the guide to what direction an E pointed. The chart clearly stated that I had given the correct answer for the E that I had read.
After a few more minutes of having an E direction discussion between myself and the tester, a translator came to mediate between us. It was the translator who gave me the revelation that if I just followed the E's spaces, I would find the correct answer.
"But," I thought to myself, "That's the opposite direction implied on the chart!"
It was not actually the opposite direction implied on the chart. The translator meant for me to follow the spaces outside the E. The problem was, I had tried that method already to no avail. The translator had now given me an excuse to believe that the chart was actually incorrect.
The test was repeated then for a number of minutes until finally my tester became fed up and simply said, "One!" And, to my chagrin, I realized that it was not a communication error, it was not a translation error, it was not even a problem of direction. Apparently, I don't have the ability to count.
So, after many attempts to persuade a very skeptical tester that I can actually see (even if it is my brain's only apparent function) and proffering numerous 'Gomen Nasais' for the time I wasted, I managed to leave there with everything but my pride intact.
I am slightly looking forward to my first visit to a Japanese eye doctor, however.
(Writer's note: my aunt was kind enough to provide me with an equation for determining the length of a simple conversation in a foreign country. It is as follows:
(a2 x b2 x c2 x d x e x f x g2 ) ÷ h3
a2(specificity of subject matter)
b2 ( your understanding of the language)
c2 (difficulty of the language)
d (general health and mobility - this accounts for your ability to gesticulate and act out what you are trying to convey)
e (level of embarrassment you are willing to assume - this again accounts for how willing you are to act out your side of the conversation)
f ( level of patience in the culture - this can vary by area within a country, ex: NYC conversations will be short even if you get no information at all)
g2 (general chattiness and friendliness of person with whom you are speaking- in Ireland this turned out to be a very high number whenever I stopped to ask directions)
h3 (how quickly you are willing to abandon ship by nodding, smiling and saying 'Thank you'- without understanding the information you wanted)
Thanks Aunt Peg. I believe the equation is sufficiently scary to keep my Japanese studies on the straight and narrow).
Saturday, August 28, 2010
The Story of Two Philosophers
The world is divided into two camps, the followers of Confucius and the followers of Socrates.
My initial training upon my arrival in Nagoya was not limited to this contention, but I would say that it was the primary lesson I took away from it. My fellow trainees, including a few other Americans of various national locations, a few citizens of the UK, two from Jamaica, one from Australia and one from Ireland, we were all reduced to being members of one school of thought. And it was the wrong one for our location.
Some of you may have noted the sweeping generalization accompanied by reducing the world to two camps. I noted it myself when I first heard it during training. Having said that, the point of the argument is not to say there are only two main civilizations. No, what is infinitely more important here are the implications of creating societies that, as a result of two very different thinkers, formulate thoughts in very different ways.
America (and in some respects the West) is defined by individualism. We are encouraged from childhood to find what is special about ourselves and cultivate it. As a result, we process our thoughts via compartmentalization. We divide everything into categories, break objects down into small parts and attempt to see the 'tree for the forest'. It is even evident in children's literature, for example "See Dick Run, See Dick Play, See Dick Run and Play" places emphasis on breaking down the actions of Dick into smaller parts.
Needless to say, Japan (and in some respects the East) is defined by a different set of parameters. It regards the community as paramount and establishes the individual's importance only within the terms of the importance of the community. The emphasis of Japanese education is, therefore, not compartmentalization, but harmonious relationships.
This was the subject of my very first day of training and more than a few hours were spent on it. Of course, only so much can be done in three days of training, but I would say this was my most important lesson. I do identify as a pure product of American culture and value my individuality. As such, absorbing into a community may be one of my chief challenges.
My initial training upon my arrival in Nagoya was not limited to this contention, but I would say that it was the primary lesson I took away from it. My fellow trainees, including a few other Americans of various national locations, a few citizens of the UK, two from Jamaica, one from Australia and one from Ireland, we were all reduced to being members of one school of thought. And it was the wrong one for our location.
Some of you may have noted the sweeping generalization accompanied by reducing the world to two camps. I noted it myself when I first heard it during training. Having said that, the point of the argument is not to say there are only two main civilizations. No, what is infinitely more important here are the implications of creating societies that, as a result of two very different thinkers, formulate thoughts in very different ways.
America (and in some respects the West) is defined by individualism. We are encouraged from childhood to find what is special about ourselves and cultivate it. As a result, we process our thoughts via compartmentalization. We divide everything into categories, break objects down into small parts and attempt to see the 'tree for the forest'. It is even evident in children's literature, for example "See Dick Run, See Dick Play, See Dick Run and Play" places emphasis on breaking down the actions of Dick into smaller parts.
Needless to say, Japan (and in some respects the East) is defined by a different set of parameters. It regards the community as paramount and establishes the individual's importance only within the terms of the importance of the community. The emphasis of Japanese education is, therefore, not compartmentalization, but harmonious relationships.
This was the subject of my very first day of training and more than a few hours were spent on it. Of course, only so much can be done in three days of training, but I would say this was my most important lesson. I do identify as a pure product of American culture and value my individuality. As such, absorbing into a community may be one of my chief challenges.
Friday, August 20, 2010
An American's Dream
My grandmother once described Japan to me as a land so fantastical, so divorced from reality, that it is something more akin to a dreamworld.
While I do not wholly agree with her assessment, my experience moving to Japan has been so surreal that it almost seems like a dream. Of course, in stories where the characters are dreaming, like Alice in Wonderland or the Chronicles of Narnia, (or Inception for a modern reference) there are points where they have to blink a number of times to make sure that the world they fell into is actually real. The first time I blinked, I hardly saw the world at all, I landed at the Tokyo airport in Narita and was, within fifteen minutes, on a plane bound for Beijing. The second time I got caught in my dream for about two weeks, touring all the major cities of Japan.
My new job in Japan is to teach English to high school students in a small city called Tahara. In order to reach Tahara, I took a fourteen hour flight from Washington DC to the Narita airport in Tokyo, the site of my first glimpse. I then flew from Tokyo to Nagoya, the capitol of Aichi prefecture. To the far south, along the pacific coast, is the city of Tahara. For the trip I had a fairly low key goal, do not embarrass myself.
I am dismayed to admit that achieving this goal was an abject failure. Moving anywhere is hard enough, moving to a new country in nothing but suitcases is nearly impossible. Imagine trying to condense your entire life into a suitcase. How many would you need? As it turns out, I needed four. I might have been able to do it in three were there not weight requirements for my bag at the airport.
The second I touched down in Tokyo I had to go through customs and pick up my bags on the opposite side. Hauling the bags through customs and then rechecking them seems like it would have not been much of a problem - if you have long arms and Herculean strength. As it turns out, I had neither and my transporting of the bags was a sweaty, straining ordeal. By the time I arrived in the Toyoko Inn in Nagoya, I was drenched in sweat, so much so that I could not help but drip it onto the counter as I was checking in.
Not exactly the material dreams are made of.
As a result, I now have a clearer vision of just how insane this whole concept really is. I left my friends, family, country and home behind to move to a place where I do not speak the language and I could not even handle moving my own bags. But that was the pinch to let me know that this is not a dream, that I have actually found myself in a Narnian existence. I am now on my third glimpse of Japan and this time I do not intend for it to be just a fleeting glance.
While I do not wholly agree with her assessment, my experience moving to Japan has been so surreal that it almost seems like a dream. Of course, in stories where the characters are dreaming, like Alice in Wonderland or the Chronicles of Narnia, (or Inception for a modern reference) there are points where they have to blink a number of times to make sure that the world they fell into is actually real. The first time I blinked, I hardly saw the world at all, I landed at the Tokyo airport in Narita and was, within fifteen minutes, on a plane bound for Beijing. The second time I got caught in my dream for about two weeks, touring all the major cities of Japan.
My new job in Japan is to teach English to high school students in a small city called Tahara. In order to reach Tahara, I took a fourteen hour flight from Washington DC to the Narita airport in Tokyo, the site of my first glimpse. I then flew from Tokyo to Nagoya, the capitol of Aichi prefecture. To the far south, along the pacific coast, is the city of Tahara. For the trip I had a fairly low key goal, do not embarrass myself.
I am dismayed to admit that achieving this goal was an abject failure. Moving anywhere is hard enough, moving to a new country in nothing but suitcases is nearly impossible. Imagine trying to condense your entire life into a suitcase. How many would you need? As it turns out, I needed four. I might have been able to do it in three were there not weight requirements for my bag at the airport.
The second I touched down in Tokyo I had to go through customs and pick up my bags on the opposite side. Hauling the bags through customs and then rechecking them seems like it would have not been much of a problem - if you have long arms and Herculean strength. As it turns out, I had neither and my transporting of the bags was a sweaty, straining ordeal. By the time I arrived in the Toyoko Inn in Nagoya, I was drenched in sweat, so much so that I could not help but drip it onto the counter as I was checking in.
Not exactly the material dreams are made of.
As a result, I now have a clearer vision of just how insane this whole concept really is. I left my friends, family, country and home behind to move to a place where I do not speak the language and I could not even handle moving my own bags. But that was the pinch to let me know that this is not a dream, that I have actually found myself in a Narnian existence. I am now on my third glimpse of Japan and this time I do not intend for it to be just a fleeting glance.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)