Indeed, outsiders or marginal people in any organization or small, tightknit community may be treated similarly.'- Because JET participants were visible as members of a category, their actions carried extra symbolic consequences; their behavior was interpreted as representative of that category-indicating not their individual personalities but "the way their nationality is." One ALT offered a humorous account of the phenomenon:
"Which do you prefer, tea or coffee?" This question is one of many I face in my capacity as an ALT: representative of a foreign country and counsel on all matters pertaining to that country's society, economy, history and general trivia. As JETs it is true: we are ambassadors of a sort. On this, what I call the "Morning Break Question," I stick to a middle of the road answer. I like both. It's true, and nothing to be ashamed or embarrassed about. However, when I answer in this way I am invariably met with a stunned response. One colleague, Mr. H, was fairly shocked at my answer. He went on to explain, "Well, as you know, all Americans prefer to drink coffee, and tea is the drink of the English. How about Australians?" "Well, we drink both." "Ah-ha," my friend nodded wisely. "So in Australia you are half British, half American way."
She also described occasions on which teachers expected her to conform to the stereotype of Australians as heavy beer drinkers and further ques tioned her on which way the washing machines spin in Australia and whether snowmen are made with two balls (as in Japan) or three (the American model). While she appreciated the teachers' desire for knowledge, a nagging doubt persisted:
Nevertheless I can't help but notice how my answers are taken to reflect Australians as a whole. If I say or do something in a certain way, then it is the Australian way. Very often, no matter what I might say in protest, such a conclusion will be drawn. It's almost like a full-stop; end of conversation.... Surely saying "All Americans drink coffee" or "All Australians drink beer because their former Prime Minister is in the Guinness Book of Records for the fastest swilling of a yard glass" are harmless enough examples in themselves. Yet what of the principle, the mindset behind them? Is it not the same mindset that leads one to say that all people from X country are fascists or homicidal or warmongering or carry guns? To a black extreme, isn't that the basis of propaganda, and what makes it work? Clearly I'm stretching the point ... and there are no clear-cut earth-shattering conclusions for me to make here either. It is simply another of the many things I have been forced to think about ever since I became Therese the beer-swilling, two-ball snowmanmaking, tea AND coffee-drinking Australian, instead of just plain old Therese.28
Therese might also have noted that this tendency to see individuals as embodying national distinctiveness does not apply exclusively to foreigners. The Japanese media elevated Hideo Nomo, their first countryman to make a successful debut in U.S. major league baseball, to goodwill ambassador and representative of all things Japanese.
The ALTs were also treated as symbols on those occasions when, regardless of their experience or expertise, they were asked to talk on the inescapable theme, "[fill in the country's] view of Japan." In these situations they were expected to be speaking not just for themselves but for their nationality more generally. Some ALTs seized on such opportunities to represent all JET participants or all foreigners and to critique Japanese society; they welcomed the sense of power and prestige that comes with being in the limelight. Yet nagging doubts about the grounds for their special treatment always remained.
Moreover, their token and symbolic status constantly threatened to assume sole importance. The ALTs often captured attention for reasons wholly unrelated to their job performance. For example, even though approximately 15 to 20 percent of JET participants have had some teaching experience prior to coming to Japan, JTLs do not, by and large, use them any differently than they use those without teaching experience. The reluctance of many prefectures to match ALTs with teaching credentials to schools where their talents can be employed is particularly striking in light of complaints by some JTLs that the ALTs are too young and inexperienced and that the government should send qualified teachers.
Yet another feature of being treated as symbols was that JET participants had to prove themselves as individuals in every new context. In particular, those who had been in the program for two or three years complained that the Japanese whom they met rarely picked up on such nonverbal cues as dress, demeanor, and the like as indicators of their level of acculturation; instead, only their physical appearance was noted. As a result, whenever they left the communities and schools in which they were known, they were unwillingly thrust back into the role of the generic gaijin. Most ALTs also found that displays of competence in mastering Japanese language and culture were commented on and treated as special precisely because they were unexpected. They were praised most often for their ability to speak any Japanese, regardless of fluency, and to use chopsticks. The compliments themselves underscored the perceived rarity of the accomplishment, and ALTS quickly tired of repeatedly enacting this ritual.
The roots of the impulse to extend "guest treatment" (kajo sabisu) to light-skinned Westerners run very deep. Consciousness of the military and economic might of Western countries from the Meiji period on has certainly played a part in fostering these attitudes, but the late Hiroshi Wa- gatsuma, in an essay on the social perception of skin color in Japan, also notes a long-standing inferiority complex toward white skin that has led the Japanese to a certain ambivalence in their interactions with whites.29 There are accounts of the Dutch being paraded in front of the emperor (ijin gyoretsu) in the early years of contact with the West; and even in Japanese folk religion, Westerners were viewed as gods.3o
Not surprisingly, then, Japanese teachers and administrators were invariably puzzled at the ALTs' distress at what they considered to be wellmeaning gestures. One JTL told me, "JET participants complain about compliments and gestures of gratitude that we would never think twice about." Indeed, the Japanese intended the compliments about the ALTs' use of chopsticks or their language proficiency more as encouragement than as praise. They had to find something to compliment, since it was only good etiquette to extend preferential treatment to "the honorable visitors." Being polite and hospitable illustrated the high esteem in which Japanese held Westerners. Instead of interpreting these expressions as tiresome and insincere praise, the ALTs ought to have seen them as signals to redouble their efforts to master Japanese language and customs, for the praise usually decreased when the achievements became genuine.
As for lack of privacy, this was simply a price paid by all visitors from outside the community, foreigners or not. When the urbane Japanese hero of Natsume Soseki's Botchan is posted to a rural middle school and experiences the shock of being the newcomer, he too finds his every move observed and remarked on by his students. Finally, he despairs: "How annoying it is to have to live in a small town and be an object of criticism! It seemed as if all the students were spies watching every move and act I made. Dejection came upon me. Let the boys do and say as they will, I am not a man who will give up on account of their interference the plan he has set his heart on. But my heart began to fail me when I thought why I had come down to such a small miserable town where the tip of your nose finds limitation whenever you move about."31 The treatment that JET participants blamed primarily on a reaction to their skin color is perhaps better understood as a magnification of long-held attitudes toward outsiders in general. The foreigners in the neighboring village have simply been replaced by the foreigners from abroad.
Those who cast these actions in conspiratorial terms, as ALTs often did, thus ignore the extent to which the distinction between "inside" (uchi) and "outside" (so to) underlies all social interaction in Japan. To be "good" by Japanese standards is to be loyal to the group, and such loyalty may require that outsiders (both Japanese and foreign) be excluded. Defending organizational boundaries is a form of virtuous, not sinister, behavior. When accused of discrimination by the ALTs, Japanese teachers and administrators have countered that inso
far as it exists it is "accidental," since the intent is benign.
Well-intended or not, such praise and attention indisputably act as a distancing mechanism. The flip side of preferential treatment is that the ALTs are rarely integrated more than superficially into social routines and groupings at their schools. With only a few exceptions, no one in the schools I visited expected that ALTs would truly become part of the social fabric. Most of the ALTs with whom I talked reported that they were denied certain kinds of information, informed after the fact or not at all about meetings that concerned them, not consulted about decisions affecting their jobs, and excluded from the group in ways both symbolic (e.g., greetings not extended) and physical (e.g., desk placement). In one school the vice-principal referred to their ALT as uchi no gaijin (literally, "our outsider"), a fascinating juxtaposition of terms that demonstrates the liminal status of the ALT in the eyes of Japanese school personnel.
To be sure, the degree to which an individual JET participant is included in school routines varies significantly, depending both on the makeup of the particular school and on the ALT's personality and linguistic and cultural skills. In some cases, ALTs are used quite effectively and participate in a wide range of school activities, and they may have enormous influence over the content of their team-taught classes. But they too will eventually find themselves confronting the limits of integration. Their designation as a well-paid, short-term assistant sent by the board of education defines the parameters within which integration and exclusion play out. For example, ALTs by and large are not permitted to make decisions affecting the overall English course at their schools. One JTL noted that Japanese teachers always see the ALTs as connected to the board of education: "ALTS ask not to be treated like guests but because they come from the board of education we naturally treat them like guests [raising both hands and bowing]. The ALTs don't understand that, because they are only here for a year. We can't help but treat them like that, especially the first time they come."
There are also practical reasons for keeping the foreigners at a distance. So finely attuned are Japanese sensitivities to interpersonal relations that the ALTs almost inevitably appear to be bumblers. It is simply a lot more work to include them because they don't catch many of the subtle messages that are so vital to the smooth workings of small groups in Japan. One JTL explained, "Our first ALT was a British fellow and everyone hated him. He never greeted the students and they could tell that he wasn't sincere even though he didn't speak any Japanese. Now our ALT is great and gives us lots of ideas for team teaching. But we never consider him a real part of the group, because if we invite him out drinking with us the atmosphere changes." When an ALT has limited Japanese skills, the flow of conversation must be constantly interrupted. Although these interruptions are often motivated by a sincere desire to put the ALT at ease and explain what is being said, they also serve to reinforce differentiation. In many ways, this is a core problem of all cross-cultural interaction-the very act of attempting to learn how to integrate someone can underscore his or her status as outsider. In some cases, the arrival of an ALT seemed to actually heighten the sense of "Japaneseness" among teachers and the anxiety about maintaining boundaries. There seemed to be an assumption that learning about a second culture would lead to a corresponding loss of Japaneseness.32
Of crucial importance in determining the extent to which an ALT becomes part of school culture is his or her own disposition. Integration into any group is, after all, a mutual process. In Japan, being a good member of the group entails a willingness to engage in reciprocal courtesies. When the Japanese had tried to integrate the ALTs, I often found that the ALTs were unwilling to make the kinds of personal sacrifices (such as staying late at school) necessary for maintaining proper human relations. One JTL, for instance, recounted that when he had asked for $150 for the end-of-theyear party, the ALT had refused to pay because it was too much moneybut then later complained that he was not made to feel welcome in the school. When I asked the JTL how teachers felt when ALTs turned down such invitations, he replied: "If they accept you as one of their members, it's impossible to turn it down, but if you are a guest like most ALTs, it's OK!" Nondrinking ALTs also had real difficulties with after-hours socializing if it revolved around alcohol consumption, particularly when the bill came (was it fair to pay an equal share when one had had only a couple of glasses of juice?).
Those ALTs who refused to meet Japanese expectations of proper behavior sometimes felt that they were responding realistically to the temporary nature of their position. "If I stay at school till midnight every day I will not become head teacher," observed one ALT. In addition, many of the ALTs were clearly reluctant to give up their special status and take their place at the bottom of the totem pole, as a Japanese newcomer would.
Contrasting Formulations of Ethnicity
On a follow-up trip to Japan in 1996, I had the opportunity to visit Kyoto's Ryoanji Temple. As luck would have it, as I approached the famous rock garden I encountered a group of at least a hundred high school students on a school trip. Just as I was beginning to contemplate how this development would transform the serenity of the place, a teacher in charge of the group suddenly stopped all bystanders in our tracks by screaming at one of the male students, "What do you think you're doing? Can't you read?" I realized that in trying to get a better picture, a hapless boy had accidentally stepped on the pebbles in the garden. He had had the doubly bad luck of being right next to a sign that read "Please do not walk on the rocks" and of being spotted by one of the accompanying teachers. Raising his voice even further, this teacher repeatedly challenged the boy, "What will all these foreigners think? Aren't you Japanese? (Nihonjin yarn?) Well, aren't you?" until finally, head bowed in embarrassment, the boy nodded in agreement.
While this incident had nothing to do with the JET Program per se it reminded me not only that public education can be harnessed to reinforce national identity but also that the very presence of diversity can paradoxically heighten consciousness of that identity. Indeed, most responses to the ALTs were grounded in the sense of separateness and the very different formulations of ethnicity held by Japanese at all levels. The Japanese tendency to assume that linguistic and cultural competence, much less identity, was a priori beyond the grasp of foreigners lay in sharp contrast to the tendency of the JET participants (particularly strong among the exuberant Americans) to assume that Japanese not only could, but darn well should, learn English and become cosmopolitan. The implications of what seems to the Japanese to be commonsense behavior are summed up nicely by Harumi Befu:
Once dissatisfaction is fixed in the foreigner's mind because of his permanent exclusion from the category into which he wishes to be included, the label of gaijin will necessarily sound pejorative when thrust on him against his will. Here is a classic case of mutual misunderstanding: a foreigner's wishful thinking is that internationalization obliterates the line between him and the Japanese, whereas for the Japanese internationalization compels them to draw a sharper line than ever before between themselves and outsiders.33
Most JET participants saw internationalization in terms less of building bridges between people than of breaking down the walls between them. The Japanese teachers and administrators, however, saw internationalization as the development of techniques to improve understanding and communication between cultures and groups that they assumed would always be fundamentally different.
We have seen that there is surprising variation in the receptivity of local schools to the JET Program. Clearly, some schools and teachers take the goals of improving foreign language education and broadening attitudes very seriously, and they put JET participants to very good use. Yet there was a considerable gap between the expectations of national-level policymakers and the capacity of those at the local level to handle a top-down resource. The organizational and cultural priorities of Japanese schools often led local teachers to engage in behaviors that were perfectly commonsensical to them but ran directly
counter to the program's stated aims of improving conversational English and integrating foreigners into Japanese society. Thus it was often unclear how-and if-the ALTs fit into the dayto-day priorities and social routines that characterize Japanese schools. This naturally resulted in considerable frustration and disillusionment for the ALTs, who developed various strategies both to protest and to milk the system.
The JET Program therefore has produced a kind of conflict that is unusual in the public education system in Japan. Most academic accounts of its postwar history assume that the higher the administrative level, the greater the degree of overt conflict; they find that conflict is sharpest at the national level, where the sides are clearly drawn and most institutional- ized.34 At the small group level in local schools, by contrast, there is much greater pressure to work together, and ideological considerations are seen to take second seat to the more practical concerns of cooperating to run the school. Here, however, the level of agreement is highest at the symbolic level: virtually everyone agrees on the importance of kokusaika. It is only when an attempt is made to give a concrete shape and form to that vague concept that conflict emerges, usually at the very lowest levels of the system. Masao Miyoshi describes a similar process at work in U.S.-Japan trade negotiations: conflict arises not because interaction is resisted but because no agreement can be reached on its ground rules.35 The JET participants are problematic precisely because many (though not all) assert universal ethical principles that contradict and can damage the norms of group process.
Given that ALTs and JLTs often hold divergent views of the goals of the educational process itself, it is surprising that battles do not erupt more frequently. That overt conflict is minimal is a testimony to the extraordinary capacity of Japanese teachers and school-level administrators, relying on situational adaptation, to absorb the potential shock of the ALTs' arrival. One might expect that the introduction of an outsider into the tight-knit culture of the school would result in serious disruption, radically altering the chemistry of the community; but instead all the other elements, from the principal down to students, reconfigure themselves to minimize the effects of the outside agent. The high level of sympathy among Japanese teachers for the general slogan of "internationalization" and the cultural tendency to treat foreigners as guests have been crucial in partially neutralizing the disruptive potential of the educational imports.
Importing Diversity: Inside Japan's JET Program Page 30