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The idea of equality is grounded in the larger cultural ideology of "group life" (shudan seikatsu). Basic to this ideology is the belief in the inherent goodness and sacredness of people living as members of a group or society, along with the danger or even immorality of living apart from it. Accordingly, equality in Japanese classrooms means giving each student a place to belong by having him participate in the group-based problem-solving processes, regardless of ability. The Japanese believe such inclusiveness is the essential component of "whole person education," which is the trademark of their compulsory education system.
During my interview with three male students at Naka Vocational, for example, I asked them if they thought Japanese education was fair, and if so, why. Even these high-school students whose school ranked below its non-vocational counterparts shared their deep faith in the fairness of Japanese education. The first student said it was fair because:
Those who are smart and those who are not smart study together in one class. No matter how smart or not, you can receive the same education, and this is true at any level of the Japanese education — elementary, junior high, and high school. The education at this school is fair in the same way, and I think it's good.
The second student agreed.
I, too, think it's fair because teachers address their lectures to the whole class. I do feel kind of bad for the students who do poorly, so I cannot really say if it's good or bad.
The third student explained.
I think it's fair for the same reason. Dividing students is like attaching labels. Students who are not smart will think of themselves as dumb students, and once they believe they are not smart, their academic performance will become worse and worse.
Japanese teachers almost never group students by ability in the classroom. We identified only one such case, that of a third-grade mathematics class in Minami City in which students were divided into "advanced" and "non-advanced" groups and were taught by two separate teachers. The principal explained that ability grouping inside a classroom was still at the "experimental stage" and would be acceptable "only in a provincial city such as Minami where teachers know their students well enough to communicate to them that the ability grouping does not indicate permanent labeling."
In the remaining schools we visited, ability grouping inside a class was regarded as a strict taboo. Students in many high schools are assigned to different classes on the basis of ability and future plans. But even in high school, students will not be divided within the classroom because educators generally believe that ability grouping is discriminatory, hurts students emotionally, and that having mixed-ability classrooms is the right thing to do.
Japanese teachers, students, and parents take it for granted that students are not grouped by ability differences in public schools. Therefore, they are usually surprised when they are asked why students are not divided by differences in their ability. Nevertheless, the question evoked a deeply held emotional attitude of Japanese teachers, students, and parents whom I interviewed that separating individuals according to merit is a serious violation of the Japanese idea of fairness. Specifically, one high school teacher explained:
Teacher: If the school separates students according to ability differences, what the school is doing is discriminating among students. This goes against the school's basic goal of having students learn as members of a group.
Interviewer: Do you really think this is discrimination?
Teacher: Yes, because you are treating students who are able in one way, and those who are not so able in another way. This is not what teaching should be.
A ten-year-old girl at Tancho Elementary School also expressed her disagreement with the practice of ability grouping as follows:
Interviewer: What do you think would happen if your teacher assigned you to be seated according to your ability?
Student: If the teacher does that, everyone will get upset and say that is discrimination.
Interviewer: Why is that discrimination?
Student: School is a place where the teacher has to teach everyone fairly. If the teacher puts only the smart students in certain seats, it becomes clearly known to us all who the good students are. That will hurt the students who cannot study well.
The second reason cited against the use of instructional grouping was that it would hurt students emotionally so much that they would lose their motivation to study. For example, when asked about the validity of using instructional grouping, a middle-aged male teacher immediately immersed himself in the following thoughts:
I put myself in their situation and imagine that I happen to be placed in a group which is the lowest in ability. I would feel very bad. So I do not want to divide them according to their ability (Teacher, Naka Vocational High School).
A junior high school teacher echoed similar thoughts:
If I use instructional grouping, those who are placed in a slow group would feel very ashamed. When I think of how they feel, dividing them has a more negative than positive effect. (Teacher, Shimogawa Junior High)
A parent explained that, in his opinion,
Grouping would be a welcome opportunity to let students' abilities grow, but for those who lack a competitive spirit, it would cause them to lose their willingness and interest to study. (Parent, Meiji High School)
Lastly, another teacher described the negative emotional effects of grouping when he explained:
Those who are in the slow group will not do any work because they would be discouraged by the fact that they are placed there. They feel their teacher gave up on them and also feel that their peers look down on them. I think it is very unbearable (kutsujoku teki) for the students to be labeled like that.
The last reason against the use of instructional grouping was that a mixed-ability classroom can yield pedagogical as well as moral benefits. Teachers explained the pedagogical benefit of teaching to a mixed-ability group as follows. First, a science teacher at Meiji said:
In science, it is more meaningful to put both the students who are doing well and those who are not in the same group, because those who are not doing well tend to raise a basic/simple question, and by listening to them and helping them understand, those who are doing well are given an excellent opportunity to review and confirm their ability. (Teacher, Meiji High School)
A technology teacher at Naka Tech affirmed this view by saying:
Sometimes, those who are able and those who aren't learn more because they learn from each other. For example, say we have a very fast learner in a group of six. This student can deepen her understanding by teaching the rest of the group what she knows. (Teacher, Naka Vocational High School)
Japanese educators advocate the advantage of mixed-ability classrooms not purely for its practical pedagogical benefit, but also for its moral benefit. At Hasu Elementary School, for example, parents from the largely working class neighborhood expressed their genuine appreciation for the school's effort to include learning disabled students in regular classrooms. By using a popular Japanese saying "Yononaka ni wa iro iro na hito ga iru kara" (The world consists of many different kinds of people), she praised this effort as, "It's great to know that my child and his friends are spending time with learning-disabled children. It's a great learning experience."
Mr. Tanaka, a teacher at Tancho Elementary School, was the most articulate proponent of this view. Asked what he would do if he had to group students, he said, "If I absolutely have to divide them, I would have to have a class with a few learning-disabled students. But to isolate students who are doing very well is meaningless." He was quick to point out that it was easy to teach a class consisting only of advanced students. But he said such grouping should be reserved for some top-level academic high schools where they just have to face the reality of the college entrance exam. However, "elementary education has a distinctive goal of creating 'well-rounded' human beings."
Since I heard many other teachers emphasize the importance of teaching a mixed-ability classrooms, I asked Mr. Tanaka if Japanese teachers were advocating the goodness of mixed-ability classrooms simply to repeat the official slogan of Japanese elementary education. The question upset him. He insisted that he sincerely believed in the importance of mixed-ability instruction as follows:
Teacher: When I think of students who are at the elementary school level, in order to guide them to be solid, well-rounded human beings—I have already said that this is the most important thing we have to do in elementary school. I cannot place them in a setting in which everyone excels academically; everyone does not see problems as problems (because everything is easy for them), and everyone does not know there are people who are suffering and hurting. To place children in such a limited environment when they are emotionally immature will damage their future because it will not help them develop as human beings with character and depth (fukamino aru ningen). I believe that is the absolute truth (zettai shinjitsu dato omou). I believe it strongly!
Interviewer: I did not mean to doubt your sincerity.
Teacher: To doubt what I am saying is out of the question. If there are people who doubt, I want to say to them, "Why don't you understand? Something must be wrong with you if you have to doubt and cannot accept such a simple truth!"
Then Mr. Tanaka went on to share his experience that led him to believe the importance of mixed-ability instruction as follows:
Let me tell you from my own experience. I think it was my second or third year of teaching. In P.E. class, when I was teaching my students jump box, I realized that some students could do level 4, some could do 5, some could do 6, and some could not even do 4. So I thought it would be efficient if I grouped them together by their ability because every time someone had to do their turn, the level had to be changed to match their ability. It was too much work and waste of time. If I had all the students who could do level 6 in one group, however, they could keep practicing without wasting their time to change the level for other students who could not do level 6. In this way, every student of every level could benefit, for they had more time to practice. Then a teacher, who was especially experienced in teaching P.E., said what I was saying was true, but when I saw how he was teaching his students, he had all kinds of students in every group. I told him that what he was doing was not efficient, and he told me education was not about efficiency! He said, there are all kinds of people in this world. Does a smart person live only among smart people? No, all kinds of people live together, and that is our world/society. To divide students when they are still in elementary school . . . yes, it may be efficient in the classroom, but what does that teach about our world?
If students are not grouped by ability, how do teachers deal with differences in ability? One answer is that they take advantage of the differences by what is called issei jugyo (whole-class instruction).
When I asked an eight-year old girl at Tancho Elementary School what words of advice she would give to her American friend who was having trouble at school, she told me:
I would say "Let's study together." I will begin studying with her from the place she got behind. Even though I understand, I will go through with her until she finishes thinking. If she does not understand, I will teach her. If I simply give her answers or if I simply teach her, it will not be good for her.
In the majority of Japanese classrooms — with the exception of instruction directed at the entrance exams in most high schools and ninth-grade classrooms — all students study a single subject matter together. Moreover, teachers and students collaborate in their effort to understand the problem. It was against this background that the 8-year old informant responded that other students should help a student who was falling behind until the student understood the problem.
Japanese teachers do not simply lecture to the class, but do so in a manner that everyone is in step with what is being discussed. For the large part, this process of learning as a member of a group is the goal of learning.
The basic procedure of whole class instruction is remarkably similar from one class to another. In a typical Japanese classroom there are from 30 to 45 students. Boys and girls sit on a bench and share one desk in some elementary schools. In other schools, male students are assigned to a row of single desks and female students to another. A large chalk board is placed on the front wall. Many elementary and junior high schools are also equipped with a TV monitor and a video camera which is used to record classroom activities such as displaying answers given by a student to the class. The back wall usually has a smaller bulletin board, which is used for non-academic purposes such as notices of upcoming events, class mottoes, or such informal reminders as "not to catch a cold in the cold weather." The remaining wall space is used for posting students' art work.
The typical instructional procedure of whole class instruction is as follows. The chime rings, and the teacher comes into the classroom. The nicchoku, the student who is assigned for a day to lead the class's routine tasks announces "All rise," "Bow," "Be seated." The students follow his or her instructions.
The lesson begins with the review of the previous lesson or problem, or the introduction of a new topic which lasts around 5 minutes. After a transitional statement, the teacher announces the subject matter of the day and explains the basic concepts to the class (5 to 10 minutes). At the end of the explanation, the teacher assigns students seatwork in which they solve practice problems based on the key subject (20 to 25 minutes). Students work individually, in pairs, or in small groups. During the seatwork, the teacher walks around the classroom to check students' progress, and answers students' questions. When the majority of students are finished, several students may be asked to put their answers on the chalkboard. Each student then explains the rationale behind the ways he or she solved the problem. Other students evaluate the strengths and weaknesses of a given problem-solving procedure (5 minutes). About 5 minutes before the class ends, the teacher summarizes the major points discussed by the students. The teacher then announces the plans for the next class meeting.
The following class offers a vivid example of whole class instruction.
Ms. Sato's third grade math class. At the upper left corner of the front chalkboard were two framed scripts stating the motto of the class:
Everyone's Classroom
If there is a good thing to do, all of us will do it together
If there is a thing to be enjoyed, all of us will enjoy it together
If there is a thing that's troubling someone, all of us will think of what to do together
We all make this class better by helping one another
The Goals of Our Class
To be positive/spirited (genki) and friendly to all (akaruku)
To be cooperative, helpful, and empathetic with each other
To pay attention, listen carefully, so that one can think and speak autonomously
To take initiative and work hard to improve
Also directly above the chalkboard, on five other vertically placed banners, hung the descriptions of the "finger signs" which Ms. Sato's students used to exchange their ideas with one another. (Ms. Sato’s class was unusual in using these signs.)
The class had just begun when I stepped into her class. Ms. Sato is in her early 30s. Her instruction is efficient and engaging. A rectangle-shaped banner was already placed on the blackboard, which read, "If you go to buy ___ number of caramels, which are 21 yen each, how much would it cost?" This problem was a review from the last class meeting.
First, Kato-kun (kun is usually added after boys' names to show affection), was asked to stand up and read the banner. Then Ms. Sato announced, "Let's put some numbers in the box." Several students raised their hand, and Ms. Sato called on two of them. The first one said "nine," and the second one, "eight."
Even this simple routine was highly stylized. These two students followed exactly the same procedure when Ms. Sato called their names. They briskly answered, "Hai!" (Yes!) as they stood up from their chairs, gave their answers, and sat down to signal the end of their response.
Ms. Sato then asked the entire class: "When we buy one caramel which costs 21 yen, what equation should we have?" Several students raised their hand. Ms. Sato called on a boy named Togo-kun who stood up and answered, "We have one caramel which costs 21 yen. So it's 21 times one." As Togo-kun was about to sit down, Ms. Sato silently showed him her index finger pointed to the class and reminded him to ask everyone what he or she thought of his answer. Looking a bit embarrassed for having neglected to do this, Togo-kun uttered the set phrase every student used to ask opinions of everyone in the class, dou desu ka (What do you think?). Everyone in the class silently raised his or her index finger, indicating they all agreed with Togo-kun's answer.
"Everyone seems to agree with Togo-kun's opinion," Ms. Sato said. Then she asked, "Now is there anyone who thinks they would solve this problem differently?" As she asked the question, she wrote on the chalkboard "1 X 21" (instead of 21 times 1). The equation was not appropriate because it did not follow the way the question was phrased (i.e., If you go buy ___ number of caramels, which are 21 yen each, how much would it cost?). But she wrote it purposely to test how many students understood the concept of writing the equation just as the question was phrased. She asked the class, "Are they the same? I wrote the equation 1 times 21 (instead of 21 times 1)? What do you think?" Some students showed the "I agree" signs, others indicated the "I have an opinion" sign.
Then Ms. Sato said, "Not everyone said, 'It's OK.' I wonder why everyone didn't. OK, Miyaka-san! (san is added after girls' name to show affection; it is also used to be polite)" Miyaka-san said, "We are supposed to figure out by what number we would like to multiply 21. So to say, "multiply one by 21 doesn't sound right." Ms. Sato asked the whole class, "What do you think?" Then another student, Kato-san raised her hand and said, "If we have 21 of something that cost one yen, it would be 1 times 21, but if we have the one thing that costs 21 yen, it would be 21 times 1." Ms. Sato said, "Very good. If something costs 1 yen and we have 21 of them, then we can say, 1 times 21. But in this case, as Kato Midori-san said, we have only 1 thing that costs 21 yen."
Then, everyone in the class chanted the equation of 21 multiplied by a single digit number as if they were trying to pound this formula into their heads. When Ms. Sato signaled, "One," then the whole class responded, "21 times 1." When Ms. Sato signaled, "Two," the class responded, " 21 times 2," and so forth.
At the end of the review exercise, which took about 8 minutes, Ms. Sato finally announced the new topic, "Today, I would like to find out what kinds of numbers you would like to put in the box. We have put 1 through 10 in so far. I would like to see what else you would like to put in it today. So, are there any other numbers that you think you would like to put the box?"
Ms. Sato told me later that she told her students in advance that they were going to cover the topic of two-digit numbers being multiplied by two digit numbers ending with zero (e.g. 10, 20, etc.). But instead of announcing the day's topic herself, Ms. Sato let her students state it by having them answer the question, "Are there any other numbers that you think you would like to put in the box?" She thought that by responding to this question, the students were motivated, engaged, and fully involved in the lessons, because it was not the teacher but the students who declared what they wanted to study.
Several students raised their hands and told Ms. Sato that they would like to multiply 21 with the two digit numbers, 40, 50, 60, 70. Then Ms. Sato announced, "The numbers we have already covered are 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, and 10. Now let's compare these numbers and those you said you wanted to study today."
Ms. Sato's class typifies the teaching that exists in Japanese elementary schools with the emphasis on student-centeredness and exploration. Teachers rely on students as the primary dispensers of information, while they assume the role of discussion leader in helping students to discover what the most essential aspects of the information presented are.
Whole-class instruction emphasizes both unity and diversity among students. An appropriate metaphor here may be a mountain with several paths to reach its peak: there are several ways to get there, but all are striving to reach the same goal. As we shall see next, Japanese students are united in their pursuit of a single learning goal, but are also encouraged to discover why each student's method for reaching that goal has merits and demerits of its own. We identified the following pedagogical aspects as contributing to the ways individual differences are managed in whole class instruction.
Cultivating "oneness" of students. Before a teacher asks students to contribute their unique ideas to the class, the teacher makes sure that the whole class is united in a single purpose. The following episode which took place at Shimogawa junior high school illustrates this principle.
While visiting a math class, I noticed that the noise level became quite high as the students talked to each other while solving problems. Later during the interview, I asked the teacher if the noise ever bothered him. He admitted that this class was a little bit too loud, and explained "something like that would not have happened if I were lecturing to the whole class." He said that what bothered him more than the noise level in the classroom was when "students were not talking to [him] but to each other." That is:
Whenever a student speaks to me I consider it a part of classroom activities, even if it is not directly related to my academic objective. When two students begin to talk to each other, they are excluding all the other students. I consider this a problem. But if they are talking to me, I don't consider it a problem because the whole class can participate in their conversation.
When I asked him for an example of this, he told me the following episode. A few days before the interview, two students in his class were talking about the upcoming Valentine's Day. (In Japan, girls are supposed to give candy to the boys they like). He then told the students, "You can talk about whatever you want in my class, but whatever you say here has to be shared with everyone else so that all of us know what's going on."
Focusing on average and below-average students. In whole class instruction, a teacher aims the lesson at an ability level no higher than that of the average student, so that anyone at or below this level can follow it. Japanese teachers know that such instruction does not meet the needs of all students, as a math teacher at Shimogawa Junior High admitted, "Ideally you should be able to teach students at each level of ability." As with other teachers, he felt however, "that this was simply impossible in our system of whole class instruction."
In order to help below-average students, who have a harder time understanding the instructional material than average students, most teachers start with easier material and gradually move to more advanced materials. A teacher at Chuo Junior High explained this strategy as follows:
In class, I direct my lectures towards the students who are at the middle. More importantly, I am trying to teach them basics (kiso). It is not always easy to teach in a way that the students at the bottom can understand. My goal is to make my lecture understandable for C students, but then F students fall behind. So I first try to teach the very basics so that even the F students can understand. (Teacher, Chuo Junior High)
Sometimes, the average and below-average students understand only part of the lecture. In such cases, the teachers often teach only the basic aspects and then move on to the next topic. The teachers expect those who really want to understand to seek help individually. A teacher at Tancho Elementary School explained this point:
What I am going to say may sound like a kind of excuse, but there is a course of study in Japan, and as I follow that, I sometimes come to materials which I do not expect my students to comprehend 100 percent. I would of course explain them first, but if the students don't understand, I just touch on them very lightly and move on. I think it is okay for them not to understand certain things at that time. I know they will be able to understand later, so I don't worry about them. For example, the fifth-graders are learning percentages, and because it requires a kind of abstract thinking, they seem to have a hard time understanding it. In such a situation, I believe that I can teach every one of my students the very basic points—I know they can all understand 5 out of 8 is 62.5 percent. If it is the very basic, I believe even the students who first cannot understand will understand when they receive tutorial help (kobetsu shido). Our textbooks include applied, complicated materials, too. So if someone asks me whether or not I can teach all of my students to understand things of that advanced level, I would say that I am not trying to do that. I believe if the students acquire the basics well, they will be able to do more complicated materials later on. (Teacher, Tancho Elementary School)
Withholding assistance for advanced students. There is no special program for "gifted" students in regular Japanese schools. By concentrating their level of instruction on average and below-average students, Japanese teachers have much less time and energy to work with more advanced students. For the most part, the advanced students are expected to study on their own, as a science teacher at Meiji High School told me, "I believe it is more important to take care of those who are not doing well. Those who are doing well can study on their own if I tell them what to study." (Teacher, Meiji High School)
Teachers do not discourage able students from moving ahead on their own even during the classroom exercise. Advanced students often go ahead of others in the classroom, enabling them to spend less time studying at home or studying other subjects:
So sometimes the teacher will say, 'If you are finished with this, go on to the next page.' The students who excel most likely go on and even finish the next page. Then the teacher will say, 'The next page will be your homework.' Well, those who excel don't have to worry about it because they are able to finish it in class. In times like that, the students who cannot finish and have to work on it as homework will envy the students who do well. (Student, Hasu Elementary School)
The majority of students and parents support the lack of assistance given to advanced students in the classroom. They understand that the goal of regular classes is to reduce the gap between the advanced and less advanced students, and for teachers to neglect this responsibility would be to discriminate among students on the basis of differences in ability. The reason a student at Tancho Elementary School felt that teachers spend less time with advanced students than with the average and below average students was as follows:
If the teacher does more for those who are already good at studying, they will continue to excel, and there would be a big difference between them and the students who are not good at studying. However, if the teacher does something special for the students who don't do well, they may be able to improve themselves and our class as a whole will be better. I think that's good. If I were one of the students who could not study well, I would feel very bad to see my teacher paying attention only to the good students. It's favoritism. (Student, Tancho Elementary School)
Overseeing students' rates of progress. Japanese teachers rely on two methods to assess the range of differences in students' mastery: exams and by overseeing students' rates of progress during deskwork. The latter is called kikan junshi — to patrol (junshi) while strolling among students' desks (kikan)." Several teachers conducted their kikan junshi as part of "team teaching"; that is, one teacher gave the lecture while the other one walked among students and gave individual help. One teacher at Naka Vocational explained the function of kikan junshi:
After I finish explaining one such topic, I go around the classroom to see how each student is doing. This way, I get the sense of individual differences. If I pay attention to the entire class, each student would feel that he or she is being neglected. Sometimes I don't have time to pay attention to every student in my class. In that case, I go to one section of class and another section in another day. (Teacher, Naka Vocational High School)
In an example of the degree to which Japanese teachers are aware of each student's ability level and learning style, a math teacher at Shimogawa Junior High described the nature of differences among his students:
Interviewer: You walked around in the class a lot today. For example, you stopped by one student who was sitting in the front row, and spent a long time there working with him. What kind of student is he?
Teacher: He is way behind most others. He makes problems of his own, but does not feel quite confident enough to solve them. So he was asking me, "I did it this way, teacher, but is it OK?"
Interviewer: So he was a motivated student. But he lacks confidence.
Teacher: That's right. The only reason he's so far behind is that he can only work at things that are interesting to him. He cannot work on problems that are boring for him. I suspect that he had many such experiences in the past.
Interviewer: You stopped at other students. How about the big tall student who was sitting in the middle? You were working with him.
Teacher: He's at the top of the bottom one-third, I'd say. He's very willing to study but gives up easily. He is on a roll when he's solving easy problems, but once he faces more difficult questions, he stops trying all together. He still takes notes, but he stops trying to understand.
Interviewer: Who else did you stop by?
Teacher: You saw me stop by the student who was sitting on the second row on the very right, right next to the hallway. He is one of those who are barely following me in class. I don't think he has quite mastered the multiplication chart yet. Today, I simply had him copy questions and answers from the exercise book. He lacks confidence in solving math problems to such a degree that he does not think even I could help. I'd tell him, "To solve this problem, you have to do this and that," but he goes, "No, teacher, I don't understand." You see, he has his pride (or sense of dignity in front of his classmates), too. That's why he doesn't show much interest when I'm working with the entire class. But when I go to him individually, he asks questions.
Interviewer: You also stopped at this big boy who was working with the girl in front of him.
Teacher: That's right. The boy answered the question given by the girl incorrectly, but didn't know that, so they wanted me to tell them if his answer was correct. Then there were these two on the fifth row. One of them is one of my best students (sugaku ga honto ni dekiru). The boy who was working with him was trying to outsmart him, and was trying to come up with a more difficult solution than his, but neither could answer this problem. That's why they called me. There was also this student on the sixth row. He's really good at math but very quiet. He's able to solve problems, but does not seem to be good at making questions or challenging questions that involve application. He can solve about 80 percent of the problems we do in class, but when these problems become more advanced, he can't. That was what was happening today. When I happened to walk by him, he was having trouble solving the problem.
One important goal of kikan junshi is to provide assistance for individual students having difficulty understanding or solving the assigned problems. As a math teacher at Midori Junior High explained, "I'd go around the class, and if I find someone who's having trouble, I'd offer a hint. I'd give able students smaller hints, and less able students bigger hints." A math teacher at Arata High School also explained:
I make sure that my students understand my lesson by walking around the classroom and checking the students' notebooks. If I feel they are having a hard time, I explain the problem again and tell them to solve similar problems. When I think at least 80 percent of them understand, I move on to the next lesson. (Teacher, Arata High School)
Solving a problem together. In whole class instruction, all students try to solve or understand a single problem together. The chief purpose of the collective effort is not to find the correct answer. Instead, it is to discuss as many ways to solve a problem as possible, along with the thought processes involved in each. Japanese teachers believe thinking through many ways to solve a problem is the most effective means of arriving at a deeper understanding of a concept.
Ms. Sato's use of hand signals represents perhaps the most systematic effort to integrate different opinions of students in the exploration of a single problem. Also in Mr. Tanaka's class, the whole class was involved in discovering the ways a human egg transformed itself into a fetus for the entire class hour. Mr. Tanaka justified this teaching method as follows:
There is only one answer to what we were trying to find out today. That is, there is only one answer to questions like "when do a baby's hands and legs develop?" and "when do a baby's eyes develop?" However, children come up with all different kinds of answers. So by comparing their answers, they will be aware of the fact that there are different ways of thinking. Your way of thinking is not the only way, and you have to learn to accept that. By realizing that, they will be led to wonder and question. They would say, "I have been thinking like this, but someone else has a different opinion. Why is that? Maybe I should try to look at it from a different angle. I should think it over. I should investigate." Like today, everyone knew that a baby's life begins with a small egg and grows inside a mother's womb, but when I asked them to draw a picture of how the baby develops, they had a hard time. Often children think they know everything, especially those who are interested in studying and might have read some books and feel that they can explain about the development of the fetus on their own. But the reality is that even such students have a hard time if they are asked to draw pictures. Yes, it is true that they have seen it in books, but seeing is different from understanding, and the truth is they have not yet understood even though they thought they did. It is very important to challenge children and break their belief that they know everything. We have to let them question whether or not they really have a complete understanding of that particular subject. Of course, those who don't understand from the beginning are okay, because they, listening to different answers or opinions, will be amazed and fascinated. But the children who think they know and understand must be challenged and stimulated. Then they can become motivated. Otherwise, they would simply say, "Oh, I already know that, so I don't have to study."
Strategically concealing the correct answer. One effective way to help students engage in thinking about various ways to solve a problem is deliberately to conceal the right answer from them. It is believed to be helpful to all students if they hear the variety of explanations that are offered and, in the end, to hear why some were more effective than others. In a math class at Midori, for example, the teacher asked students how many ways there were to unfold a cube. The correct answer is eleven. But one of two students who announced his answer to the class said that there were 12 ways. The teacher did not tell the class that this was the wrong answer. Instead, he told the class, "Let's find out if there are indeed 12 ways to unfold the cube as [the student's name] told us." He explained the reason why he did not give away the right answer as follows:
It's important for students to think. I know that if I explain what's in the textbook, nearly all students in this school will understand. But if I do that, much of their attention and energy will be spent on simply memorizing my explanation. I don't think this is desirable. Instead, I will present them with a question and first ask them to write down whatever comes across their minds, and start from there, so that they actually have to think in order to come up with a solution.
This teacher not only concealed the right answer from his students, he also took advantage of being given the incorrect answer by one student to make other students think. As is the case with most other Japanese teachers, he did not consider it an act of manipulation. Rather, he said it was a very effective way of teaching, and if he did not capitalize on students' errors, he would miss many golden opportunities and end up saying what the textbook was saying.
Japanese teachers prize variations in ability in their classrooms because they naturally provide pedagogically beneficial errors of this type. They do not worry, however, that disclosing students' mistakes to the rest of the class might hurt their self-esteem. Several reasons for this lack of concern were described in our interviews with teachers and apparent in our observation of classrooms. First, Japanese teachers consciously work to build a trusting and non-threatening atmosphere in the classroom. They call on students with wrong answers more often than those with right answers, and the teachers reinforce the students' willingness to participate by announcing that they are making an important contribution to the rest of the class. Teachers also reprimand those who tease students who give wrong answers. Second, Japanese teachers study each student's personality carefully, so that they are generally able to judge which students are more likely to feel hurt than others. They use particular caution when allowing sensitive students to give the wrong answers. Finally, many Japanese teachers simply do not make the association between using a student's wrong answer and damaging the student's self-esteem. Mr. Tanaka, for example, was surprised when I suggested that the use of a wrong answer might have a negative effect on a student's self-esteem. He flatly denied such a possibility:
No, not at all. I think what we have here is the matter of what we call cognitive disharmony — that is, you think you understood something, but when you put that knowledge with something else you understood, they cause some kind of conflict: you thought you understood, but you did not. There is room for you to learn more so you can find value in studying more. Self-esteem will be damaged? That has nothing to do with this. I have never thought like that!
Some students said that they feel nervous when they are sharing an answer with the whole class without knowing if it is the right answer. Most of them also said, however, that the benefit of learning from sharing their answer overrides such a fear. Three students at Tancho Elementary School, for example, explained the benefit of learning from not immediately knowing the correct answer:
Student A: Instead of simply giving the answers away, my teacher gives lots of hints. If the students still don't understand, the teacher gives even a bigger hint than he did first—the teacher may tell them to use a certain equation, but also tells the students that it is up to them to complete the problem. I think such a way of teaching is good because we still have a chance to think on our own.
Student B: Sometimes my teacher walks around and checks how each student is doing. At that time, the teacher often says that those who are finished can help their neighbors who are having a hard time. The teacher also goes to the students who don't understand and teaches (gives hints to) them there. I would say everyone can come to understand math by receiving such help from the teacher or classmates.
Interviewer: So the teacher doesn't give you the answers?
Student B: No, if the teacher just gives away the answers, it does not do any good to the students because it is not going to be their own knowledge. In order to let us acquire the ability to think on our own, the teacher gives hints, not answers.
Student C: My teacher is just like [Student B's teacher]—walks around and checks each student; encourages us to help one another and gives hints. I think the way my teacher teaches is good.
In sum, during the elementary and junior high school years, Japanese education encourages some types of individual differences in the classroom. After the end of compulsory education, however, students are sorted by ability between and within schools.
[Chapter 3 - Individual Differences and the Japanese Education System (Part 4 of 5)]