Schooling for the Common Good

By Ellie McGrath

Shushin, spirit and internationally envied success

Americans, impressed first by the quality of Japanese cameras, then TV sets, then cars and stereo equipment, are now beginning to hear about another top-quality product: the education system that has produced so much success. Amidst cries in the U.S. of "back to basics" and "on to excellence," the rigorous pace and pressure of Japan's schools, the required curriculum and the unquestioned authority of teacher over pupil all possess an appeal for Americans who have heard some thing of how Japanese education works and who remember some-thing of how U.S. education used to. But the patterns and goals of an educational system do not transfer as easily as a Walkman.

U.S. educators can study Japan profitably, but not if the intent is merely to replicate.

Japan learned that lesson, in reverse, not once but twice. After the Meiji Restoration, the new imperial government sent study missions to the U.S., France and Prussia, then tried to set up a national education system based on Western liberal utilitarian thought. The experiment was short-lived. Much the same thing happened after the U.S. occupation. The American-imposed structure of grade school, junior high and high school was retained, along with coeducation and compulsory attendance until age 15. But many of the other U.S.

reforms were soon discarded.

One telling point of conflict in the postwar years was the notion of shushin (moral education), which was at the center of the traditional curriculum and taught the value of filial piety, loyalty, nationalism and, above all, fealty to the Emperor. The American overseers saw shushin as part of the country's problem and banned it. In 1957, five years after the occupation ended, shushin was restored, minus its ultranationalist trappings and with the new name of dotoku. Again the aim was to instruct youngsters in the importance of respect for the common good. In a sense, it is what makes Japan's education system truly Japanese.

The cornerstone of the system, though, is the influence of Confucius, the 6th century B.C. Chinese philosopher, who taught that success in academic life is the measure of an individual and reflects the honoring of mutual moral obligations. Exalting the role of the teacher, he believed that learning should be unceasing and tested with frequent examinations. Japan today lives up to that academic ideal.

From kindergarten onward, students are off on a marathon of constant learning that takes them over a series of examination hurdles, the last of which determines admission to college and in effect a career. Individuals are driven, but academic achievement is a group endeavor. Everyone is expected to learn, and everybody does. "The teacher works to elevate the level of achievement of the class as a whole," explains Rutgers Education Professor Nobuo Shimahara. The Japanese make no effort to single out slow or gifted pupils for special classes. Nor are inadequate students held back; the shame is thought to be too great. But comprehensive exams given at the sixth, ninth and twelfth grades track the best scorers to the best schools.

To give their sons and daughters every chance, "education manias" will even sit in on classes to take notes when their children are sick. Parents' meetings are heavily attended. Teachers are greatly respected, and although their average salary is only $18,200, the job is much sought after by top college graduates. Japan spends roughly 10% of its $1.1 trillion gross national product on education (vs. 6.8% in the U.S.). Says Education Professor James Shields of the City University of New York: "The whole culture is pervaded by the ethic that with true effort you can succeed; that if you're not achieving, you haven't tried hard enough."

The Japanese not only try harder, they try longer. Children attend school 240 days a year, including half-days Saturday, compared with 180 in U.S. public schools. The extra time and effort soon show. Japanese children begin writing paragraphs in the first grade, while most Americans start in the second. Americans normally learn to calculate percentages in sixth or seventh grade, the Japanese by fifth. Japanese begin instruction in the English language in the seventh grade, while most Americans graduate from high school without a year of any foreign language. Although a Japanese high school student may have five hours of homework a night, worried parents often send their children to afternoon juku, or cram schools. Even preschoolers may attend. "Sleep four hours, pass," goes a plaintive Japanese saying.

"Sleep five hours, fail."

Students in elementary school must learn to read music and play a simple instrument like the recorder. Extracurricular activities include drama clubs, cooking clubs and sports. But for the 95% who go on to high school, such lighter fare is usually snuffed out.

In those final three years, all students study Japanese and Chinese classics, as well as linear algebra, inorganic chemistry, mechanical physics, electronic physics, statistics and calculus--subjects normally taught at the college level in the U.S. Interestingly, most students are not taught to use computers, largely because the all-important college entrance exams do not ask about computers.

Everything in Japanese secondary education--everything--is focused on these exams, given in February of the students' senior year. To win one of the 3,000 places at the most prestigious school, the University of Tokyo, a student must have one of the 3,000 top scores on its entrance exam. Other signs of intellectual excellence, and well-connected relatives, do not count. Only about 38% of those taking the exams get into a college on their first try; most of the rest make it after a year or even two of heavy additional juku sessions.

The irony is that after all the stress and cramming, college, especially for the non-science major, can be a four-year vacation. Even administrators seem to agree with a recent graduate of Waseda University, who explains, "Since we broke our backs for all those years, we deserve four years of fun." (There are some hardworking exceptions, notably students who want to go to graduate school in law, medicine and technology.) Employers hire by looking at the university a student attended and pay little attention to grades. After college, the Japanese take up serious studying again when they start to work. Says Junchi Noguchi, head of the Japan Union of Scientists and Engineers: "The real training for an engineer in Japan comes after he enters the company."

The system is not intended to create a brilliant elite. Stanford Researcher Thomas P. Rohlen, who has written a forthcoming book on the subject, says that the marvel of Japanese education lies in "shaping a whole population to a standard inconceivable in the U.S." Also inconceivable in the U.S., however, is the degree of centralization. All standards and textbook approvals, as well as major funding, come from the national government. "Japan is interested in forming a national culture," says Columbia Comparative Education Professor Harold Noah. This is not solely the result of Japan's homogeneity and island isolation. Britain, for example, did not pursue a single national vision. Instead it sought to develop individual liberty and built a decentralized education system to foster that value. So did the U.S., on a larger scale. Japan's pursuit of a common national goal is also possible on a large scale. Professor Noah compares education in Japan and the U.S.S.R., which also "is interested in forming a national character," albeit a far more politically ideological one.

The rote work and rigidity in Japanese schools, says Dr. Takemitsu Hemmi, a Tokyo University professor of mental health, "produces a system in which students don't have to be able to discuss. They just say, 'Yes, I understand.' The system does not encourage great creativity or individuality." Admits former Education Minister Michio Nagai: "It is not an exaggeration to say that education designed to develop men who love learning and think for themselves has already been abandoned." Worried by a rise in youth crime and an increase in assaults on teachers (though the totals are still low by U.S. standards), the national teachers' union argues that students cannot develop their personalities fully in such a tightly controlled environment.

Although Prime Minister Yasuhiro Nakasone set up an advisory panel last May to look into the possibility of reforms, the Ministry of Education strongly believes in maintaining present standards. And most Japanese are seemingly well satisfied with the system more or less as it is. As for those envious Americans, there may be particular Japanese techniques worth duplicating. But the biggest difference between the two systems is what Stanford's Rohlen calls "the spirit that breathes life into the education system." That spirit glows in Japan and has weakened in the U.S. But, says Rohlen, "we have to find that spirit again in ourselves." --By Ellie McGrath.

Reported by Jeanne-Marie North/New York and Alan Tansman/Tokyo

With reporting by Jeanne-Marie North, Alan Tansman This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so viewer discretion is required.