Part IV: So What Kind of a Place Is this Elementary School?

To understand the guiding philosophy of King Bear and of his educational empire, one must realize that the man himself is an ardent anglophile. This is immediately apparent upon perusal of that prospectus repeatedly shoved into my hands by the tremulous arms of Canett the day I arrived in Japan. I have found a copy of the prospectus, so now is as good a time as any to regale you with some tidbits.

From p.5, describing the "elite education system" which comprises the grade schools of the educational institution (everything sic): "For the establishment of elementary, Junior and high schools, founder, president [King Bear] has been learning from the top-flight British public school as Eton (founded in 1440), Rugby (founded in 1567) and Harrow (founded in 1571), and he has adopted an educational philosophy of British public school, stressing cultivation not only of intelligence but also of a rich sense of humanity, character and morality and the spirit of freedom and self discipline and sportsmanship indispensable to a genuine elite. In addition, president [King Bear] has placed great emphasis on the education of good manners, greeting, cleanliness and sophisticated personal appearances which are important characters of ladies and gentlemen." (I'll admit that the stuff about "personal appearances" kind of scared me at first, considering that I am a bit of a slob and frequently fail to do a very good job of ironing my shirts.)

From p.6, in describing the elementary school specifically (once again, everything sic): "On the basis of the School Motto of our Institution, sincerity, reliance, and service, and learning from such top-flight British public schools as Eton, Rugby, and Harrow, we have adopted an educational philosophy stressing cultivation not only of intelligence but also of a rich sense of humanity, character and morality and the spirit of freedom and self-discipline indispensable to a genuine elite, and ladies and gentlemen." As you can see, the prospectus boldly eschews standard stylistic prescriptions concerning repetition.

From further down on p.6: "Our elementary school built of elegant brick is located in the natural beauty of Musashino plain where small birds sing and flowers bloom all the year round. In this blessed educational environment, we educate students in order to develop their well-rounded character and intelligence."

From p.8, now describing the junior high and high schools: "Based on the School Motto of our Institution, sincerity, reliance, and service, and learning from such top-flight British public schools as Eton, Rugby and Harrow, we have adopted an educational philosophy stressing cultivation not only of intelligence but also of a rich sense of humanity, character and morality and the spirit of freedom and self-discipline indispensable to a genuine elite, and ladies and gentlemen."

Okay, that's definitely the best bits of the prospectus, which is ten pages long and also provides detailed descriptions of the vocational schools' departments of speech therapy, of culinary arts, of clinical technology, of nutrition, and of prosthetics and orthotics. I hope the aforequoted passages give a sense of King Bear's anglophilia. Also worth mentioning is p.2, which is labeled "Founder's Educational Philosophy". Under the sub-heading "Spirit of Foundation of the school", we have:

"*cultivation of scholarship and skills
*spirit of gratitude
*indomitable spirit"

I'm not sure King Bear has ever been to England. Canett certainly hasn't despite his many trips to America. In effect, then, the obsession with England is an obsession with a fantasy-world England where the brand-name public schools educate stiff-upper-lipped young men whose sense of noblesse oblige sends them out into the world to bring civilization and dry wit to the barbarians (I am obviously extrapolating). King Bear's anglophilia is all the more delusional in that he speaks absolutely no English. This has some very unfortunate results, such as the school's "Educational Policy", as stated by the orientation pack I was given upon being shown my desk and told of my teaching responsibilities at the elementary school:

"Thou shalt do everything wi' heart;
Thou shalt be a man o' iron will.
Thou! Dost stick to th' ultimate end!"

King Bear also likes bears, surprisingly enough. A little sign outside the elementary school explains that this is because bears have an "indomitable spirit" and survive rigorous winters, but I suspect that this is a post-hoc rationalization. I'm not sure where the obsession with bears comes from. The man himself is a little bit bear-like, but in the way of a teddy bear, and not of a real bear: he's a bit shorter than me, with a round face and large round glasses (in front of tiny eyes), and the rest of his body is pretty much round as well. In short, he's small and fat. The front courtyard of the school as no fewer than three statues of bears, one of which is standing on its hind legs eating a fish. The front room of the school, which is also the staff room, has a few giant teddy bears in it, as well as a row of shelves containing the Harrods teddy bear for each year going back about twenty years. Apparently Harrods issues an annual teddy bear, slightly differently-dressed each year. I later discovered a disused storage room on the third floor which contains a terrifying amount of bear-related stuff, including what looks an awful lot like a real stuffed bear (although I'm pretty sure that's illegal).

In one of the staircases, there is a set of posters made by one of my native-English colleagues that makes a valiant attempt to find at least one "famous bear" for each letter of the alphabet. The bear for K is of course "King Bear of XXXX Elementary School". (Incidentally, never before coming here did I realize how much of an elementary school teacher's job consists of decorating walls, either with the students' own artwork or with educational posters such as the bear-themed ones.)

The school also features a lot of odd English slogans scattered across the walls. They give a new meaning to the word "empty". The main slogan is "Reveal your ambition to the heavens", which is featured prominently in the front courtyard of the school (as well as at the junior and high schools). Also, for instance, the library has a poster on one of its windows that says, "Read many books, immerse yourself in the feelings", which I find hilarious although I'm not sure why. There's also, on the wall next to the door used by the students to leave the school, "We are looking forward to your future."

I'm also going to include this picture, taken by me surreptitiously on my last day of work before Christmas, of a sign just outside the school, for some sophomoric laughs:


(You can click on it to make it bigger).

My working hours are from an inhuman 8am to 4:30pm. As I said to one of my bewildered Japanese friends, this was already more than the legal maximum working hours in France. This is strictly controlled by time-card, so there's no chance for pushing the limits. Of course I could always turn up late, but considering that I'm being paid ridiculously well I would feel bad doing that. Another inducement to arrive on time is that at 8am sharp everyone in the staff room springs to attention and goes over to their designated spot around the outside of the teachers' area, forming a large circle. Everyone then recites this litany, punctuating each line with a little Japanese bow:

おはようございます！ (ohayou gozaimasu, "good morning")
ありがとうございます！ (arigatou gozaimasu, "thank you")
失礼します！ (shitsurei shimasu, "I'm sorry")
すみません！ (sumimasen, another form of apology)
報告！ (houkoku, "report")
連絡！ (renraku, "contact" or "communication")
相談！ (soudan, "consultation")
And then: オヤシスにホウレンソウ育てよう！ This is the first syllable of each of the first four lines, followed by the indirect-object particle ni, then the first syllable of each of the last three lines, and then the volitional form ("let's ____") of the verb for "to foster, to cultivate". I don't completely understand the structure of this sentence, if it can be called that. But anyway, this little ceremony, I would later find out, opens just about every official gathering of employees of the whole educational instution. (Although once, when none of the various heads of the elementary school were there, the teachers dispensed with it—what does that say about the work culture here?) Then the meeting, which is usually just a couple of minutes long, proceeds with any teachers having any announcement to make making them, and the list of all absent kids being read out.

This is an inducement to be on time not because it's a thrilling experience, but because if you're not there it makes it abundantly clear to everyone that you are late.

At about 8:20, the famous bit from Spring from Vivaldi's Four Seasons is pumped over the PA system, and one of the kids gets to make an announcement, where they say "good morning" and say what the weather is and the day's special activities. After this, a subset of the students lines up in the front courtyard for their morning assembly. They have this at least once a week, because on Wednesdays the whole student body attends. These assemblies are usually opened with a collective rendition of the school song, complete with recorded orchestral accompaniment. Whenever I have to attend this, for the amusement of the kids I make a big show of not really knowing the words, but then belting out the name of the school when it comes up in the climax of the chorus, a bit like in this Mr Bean clip (the relevant bit starts at about 7:15). Then five kids come to the front and say, in English, the various things that all the kids are supposed to promise to do (I don't really remember what it is, stuff like be nice and well-behave and all that). The rest of the kids stand with their hands on their hearts, and after each promised item they yell, "Yes I do! Yes I do! Yes I do!", while brandishing their arm three times. In any other country this gesture would immediately set off Nazi-alarms, but not over here.

Then the kids get a speech from Mr. Mumbles (mentioned in the previous post) about God knows what, stuff about being good and working hard I suspect, which he delivers in bravura style, raising and lowering his voice like a kids' TV presenter on amphetamines. Occasionally some other teacher has to say a few words, and when King Bear is there (only on special occasions like the last day of term) I am silently motioned to the front to say a few random words. On one occasion King Bear beckoned me to the front, and then held my arm fast while he lengthily described my language skills to the student, skills which apparently include fluency in Spanish and Latin, of all languages (I was also able to pick up that he told them that the Oxford entrance exam (whatever that is) included a Latin section). He then asked me to say hello to them in Latin, which I refused to do, although I now realize I should have just said veni, vidi, vici and dura lex sed lex and been done with it.

At the end of the assembly, the PA system plays the Radetzky March, and the students all stomp their feet to the rhythm as they slowly peel themselves out of their formation, column by column, to go back inside. (Wikipedia tells me the Radetzky March is played on every El Al flight prior to departure!) These assemblies take place no matter what the temperature, and are only moved to the gym in cases of torrential rain. Since the younger boys have to wear shorts as part of their uniform this strikes me as lawsuit-worthy in the US.

Normal classes start at 8:45. On Wednesdays and Thursdays I have a gym class in this first period, class which is frequently held outside in the absolutely freezing cold. The poor kids' gym uniform consists of just a short and a T-shirt, and they shiver miserably. Some of them get to wear long sweatpants and a zip-up jacket; my guess is that it's because their parents said they should get to, but I'm not sure and I will ask one of the teachers and report back to you on this question.

Gym classes start with the kids forming four columns and standing facing the teachers (i.e. myself and the Japanese teacher in charge of the class). This is accomplished almost instantly because, clearly, these kids are taught from a very early age to function as part of a well-oiled machine. They all know which group they belong to when the class is split into four, or into six (all the classes are supposed to have 30 students). There are two "PE monitors" whose responsibility it is to ensure that these opening procedures go smoothly. Once they have lined up, they proceed to "the greeting" (挨拶, aisatsu). The monitors say "Good morning teachers!", which is then repeated by the whole class. Then they all bow and us teachers bow back to them. Then it is my responsibility to say, "Good morning everyone, how are you today?" They say, "I'm fine thank you how are you?" And I say, "I'm fine/great/something else along those lines."

After this comes the warm-up, which is the main thing native-English PE teachers have to do, because it is in English. We go through a ritualized five/ten minute warm-up which drills expressions like "stretch your legs" and "swing your arms". Then it's on to the main activity of the day, and my job is essentially just to yell encouragement at the kids in English and to help monitor them. When I first arrived, the activity for all of my classes was 鉄棒—tetsubou, which literally translates as "iron bar". This was a set of horizontal bars out in the playground, sort of like high bars in gymnastics, only obviously not so high. The kids had a set of exercises they had to accomplish on these bars, which were laid out on an A-4 sized card complete with little diagrams and a box next to each exercise for the teacher to tick once the kids had successfully completed it. These exercises are apparently determined by the national curriculum. My job during the 鉄棒, then, was just to make sure no-one fell on their head, and to help the fat kids with the more difficult exercises.

PE is one of the three classes (along with arts and crafts and music) besides English itself which form part of the school's English immersion program, which is tastelessly referred to as an "English shower" in the school's literature (I would put this down to more of King Bear's whimsy, but a Google search reveals that this term is in very widespread use in Japan). The elementary school is only in its fifth year, so the program is still quite young, and it's clear to me that PE is the class where the English immersion is the least successful. The idea is that us native teachers are supposed to introduce some vocab related to the sports activity at hand (and we have monthly meetings to discuss this stuff), but for some activities no vocab is decided upon. This was the case for 鉄棒, which, as you can see, doesn't really have a satisfactory name in English. One of the more difficult activities for the kids (especially the fat ones) was the thingy where you hold onto the bar, then run under it and jump up and flip around it so that you are now up on the bar. I have no idea how this is referred to in English, and neither did any of my colleagues, so I ended up calling this "doing the saka agari", which (坂上がり) is what it's called in Japanese and literally means "going up the slope". Even if there were an English term for this, it would be of little day-to-day utility for these little Japanese kids.

On every day but Wednesday I have lunch with the kids in one of the classrooms. My favorite lunch day is Tuesday, when I eat with the first graders. They are always eager to make English conversation, even if it is rather limited. (One of the highlights was when one of them asked me "Do you like friends?", clearly practicing the "Do you like X?" sentence structure.) The class of fourth graders I have on Fridays is also pretty talkative.

During lunch more musical accompaniment plays over the PA system. In the (long) run-up to Christmas, this was a medley of Christmas songs. Now they play drastically shortened versions of "We Will Rock You" and "We Are the Champions", as sung by the same children's choir that sang the Christmas medley. I have no idea who makes these musical selections.

After lunch there is a short recess, followed by cleaning. The school doesn't seem to have much of a cleaning staff—in fact, on days preceding important events like parent-teacher day and open day, the teachers go on a cleaning spree to ensure optimal impression-making. Some of the kids have indoor cleaning duties, and they accomplish their chores to the tune of Kachaturian's Saber Dance, the overture to Carmen and Wagner's Flight of the Walkyries, which, to me, immediately evokes Apocalypse Now. (As if this crazy musical accompaniment weren't enough, the school also has unicycles which some of the girls ride around the playground during recess.) I am in charge of supervising the second-graders with outside cleaning duties, however. This, for the moment, has mostly just involved the kids picking up dead leaves in the playground with their bare hands. I think the point of the activity is mosly to instill a sense of responsibility in the kids, rather than to accomplish much in the way of physical results.

On Monday and Wednesday afternoons I have arts and crafts with the fifth graders. My responsibilities here are to drill art-related vocab at the beginning of the lesson, and then to help out the kids (in English), but mostly to discipline them (in English), since they are notoriously rowdy. But I'm a really laid-back teacher, so the real art teacher (a lovely Japanese lady only two years my senior, but already married with a baby) is usually required to keep them in line. The fifth graders have been on a school trip to England, where they learnt the expression "Shut up!", and one of their favorite things to do is to say "Shut up!" to each other in a really whiny voice of which I don't know from whom they picked it up.

I never thought of myself as a kids guy, but I have to say that working with these Japanese kids is really not so bad. For one thing, besides the fifth graders they're very well-behaved, and they're amazingly considerate to each other, apologizing to each other with an air of great, pained sincerity whenever one of them hurts the other by mistake, for instance, on the 鉄棒. (This is not to say that they don't make fun of each other: among all grades, the kids love to call each other fat; even the slightly chubby, baby-fat-covered ones are branded as fat. This is, you must remember, a nation of scarily skinny people. So I've made it my duty to be extra-nice to the fat kids, and have realized that most of them don't really seem to have any self-esteem issues anyway.) For another, it's very touching to have them run up to you and smile at you with their snaggle-toothed smiles and say "Harro Rémi-sensei!" out of their little Japanese faces. The Japanese insist that "Western" (i.e. white, let's call a spade a spade, no racist pun intended) kids are the cutest, with their big blue (invariably) eyes and blond hair. I suppose this is part of the same esthetic that covers the DVD cover of any movie that could possibly be tied to the romantic-comedy genre with a torrent of pink hearts. But I say, for the more discerning eye the Asian child is of superior cuteness.

That's it for today. Tune in next time for whatever I feel like writing about.