Seiichi Hayashi: Complexes and Diversity—Thinking About Multicultural Coexistence in High School

It has been nearly 10 years since I started teaching history and politics at a combined junior and senior high school in Tokyo.

During this time, I have felt firsthand how South Korea has become an object of admiration for children. At school festivals, performances by the dance club are popular, and K-pop accounts for a large percentage of the songs used. While some students don't put much effort into studying English, quite a few teach themselves Korean after school.

"You can read Hangul, right? Not bad, teacher!"

I, who receive such praise from students, am a third-generation Zainichi Korean—a so-called "Zainichi." Zainichi refers to Koreans who have lived in Japan since before the war and their descendants, as well as people who fled the turmoil on the Korean Peninsula in the 1950s to come to Japan and their descendants.

I attended public elementary, junior high, and high schools in Tokyo from the late 80s through the 90s. Back then, "Korean things" were mainly associated with images like "smelling of kimchi" or being "crude." South Korean-made appliances were synonymous with "low quality."

Time has passed. For the younger generation known as Gen Z, "Korean things" are cute and cool. It is the rise of "Cool Korea," as if stealing the thunder of "Cool Japan."

Young people consume Korean culture without knowing the history of colonization. Some might sigh and wonder if that is really okay. However, as someone who has engaged deeply with middle and high school students, I believe the matter is not that simple.

It is true that Gen Z lacks knowledge regarding modern history and post-war Japan-Korea relations. But at the same time, they also lack the blatant downward bias toward Korea and Koreans that some middle-aged and elderly men—who remember the "Kisaeng tourism" of the 70s or the increase in Korean pubs in the 80s—tend to hold.

When Gen Z was born, the Japanese economy was already "lost," and Korean products were all around them. Because of this, perhaps they can purely think things are cute or cool without needlessly looking down on Korea.

Precisely because they do not know the past circumstances well, they can enjoy a neighboring country's culture honestly. If such an aspect exists, as someone who teaches history, I have mixed feelings.

What should be noted here is that the values of "cute" and "cool" can also become a source of pressure for sensitive young people. For example, though it is certainly not just due to Korean influence, cosmetic medicine has become quite familiar among the youth.

The beauty industry is working hard to drum up demand. In Tokyo trains, advertisements for cosmetic surgery aimed at high school students have appeared. They likely calculated that so-called "complex advertisements" would strike a chord with adolescent youth on their way to school.

Gen Z is starting to base their standards of beauty not only on the West but also on neighboring countries. Korean dramas and entertainment show a wide range of options for "self-improvement," including cosmetic medicine. In 2020, the Japanese version of the Korean cosmetic medicine app "Gangnam Unni" was released, reaching 700,000 downloads this July.

This app is rated for ages 12+ on Google Play and 17+ on the App Store (parental guidance recommended). On the app's bulletin boards, the diverse worries of Korean high school students regarding their appearance are automatically translated into Japanese. There must be many Japanese people of the same age who empathize with these worries.

This is an example of complexes regarding appearance and the body, but beyond that, the complexes children carry have become greatly fragmented and are easy to amplify. Sexual orientation, ethnicity, roots, beliefs... Information on social media is a mixture of wheat and chaff and is constantly updated. Consequently, children become easily tossed about by the seeds of their worries.

If that is the case, I believe it is better for the teachers who receive those worries to be as colorful as possible. It is always better to have a wealth of windows where students can confide their diverse troubles.

One might argue that student counseling should be left to school counselors and that teachers are too busy. I understand this point well. However, everyone in the educational field knows that counselors are also busy. Isn't it more realistic for teachers, who have walked various paths in life, to share the spirit of counseling and respond to those who come to them?

That said, as a teacher who listens to students' problems, I am only half-baked. To use the students' own words, compared to a "reliable teacher," I am apparently "on a completely different level!"

As I mentioned in "Becoming a Zainichi Korean" (CCC Media House) published at the end of last year, I was born to somewhat troubled parents and have managed to survive this far. Perhaps because of that, while listening to a student's worries, I have a habit of wondering how this person can look forward once again.

"Hayashi, you're always trying to give an 'answer'!"

The other day, a student who came to consult about friendship problems grumbled. That student's favorite person to talk to is a Japanese teacher who is also a critic. Only when he is unavailable do they come to me, get exasperated by my attempt to find a solution, lecture me, and leave.

It is truly difficult to *just* listen to worries.

Recently, another student was nervous about club activities, and I was looking out for them in my own way. They said they had a fracture in the past and their lower back hurt. When I expressed concern, asking if they could make it home okay, the grumpy student replied:

"If it hurt so much I couldn't get home, how do you think I got to school? I wouldn't be here, right?"

That's true, but... Watching the back of that child as they left school with a mean look in their eyes, I was annoyed but also had a deep realization. Whether I search for a resolution or empathize with the worry, the student isn't satisfied. So this is what they call a "double bind" in psychology!

While students worry too much about being careful with each other's words and actions, they are often blunt with teachers. Teachers are human too, and from an educational perspective, we shouldn't let our hearts be easily hurt. However, I also want to provide them with opportunities to defy a teacher's authority within a possible range.

Setting aside my own clumsiness, it is desirable for students with various worries to be able to think of multiple teachers and say, "I can talk to that person." As students' complexes and accompanying worries become fragmented, it might even be important to have a *unreliable* window. Since ancient times, the "negative example" has also been unexpectedly important for children as an anti-hero they "don't want to become like."

Even I—who was lectured by a student, used as a vent for anger, and eventually even described as "Hayashi has a strong complex!"—am probably better than nothing. If they experience rebelling against a superior now, they might become free in the future from a personality that blindly obeys authority as a good thing.

At my school, there is a teacher who has Japanese nationality but a name with Korean roots. That person lives a different life from me, who has Korean nationality and uses a common name. To the students, the contrast between the two seems fresh, and some children *use both of us differently* depending on the content of their consultation.

On the other hand, there is a teacher who is a die-hard patriot. I worked hard alongside that teacher this September when we invited students from a high school in Hanoi, Vietnam. Looking toward entering Japanese universities, those students spent nearly a week with Japanese high school students, from classes to lunch breaks and after-school club activities.

That teacher welcomed the Vietnamese students out of pride as a Japanese person whom Southeast Asians (might) admire, while I, as a Zainichi, welcomed them as a step toward grassroots multicultural coexistence.

That teacher and I may have been "sharing the same bed but dreaming different dreams." However, people with different ideas are not enemies. Rather, searching for what we can do together is much more fulfilling.

If a school is a "microcosm of society," then unless we provide diversity in the roots, ethnicity, sexual orientation, and beliefs of those standing at the podium—not just the students—the resolution of that microcosm will remain low.

An organization guaranteeing diversity is directly linked to accepting the complexes that members have carried in their entirety. From this perspective, the diversity of those standing at the podium may sometimes prove effective in unexpected ways.

Suppose a student consults a teacher—who has various backgrounds and complexes and has accumulated life experiences of joy and sorrow—about cosmetic medicine.

A student exposed to colorful ideas that are not trapped in simple denial or affirmation might be able to look at their future carefully. At the very least, it will resonate more than a lecture that simply says, "It's too early for cosmetic medicine. Think about it when you're an adult." Now that the age of adulthood has been lowered to 18, the majority of high school students become adults while still in school.

However, it seems it will still take time to promote diversity among teachers. For example, foreign national teachers in public schools cannot work as regular "licensed teachers" (kyoyu) and instead stand at the podium as "full-time lecturers with no fixed term of appointment."

Because of this, public school teachers who do not hold Japanese nationality cannot aim for management positions. There may not be many teachers who want to take on the heavy workload of management. However, that is a different matter from the path to management being closed off in advance.

While the shortage of teachers is widely seen as a problem, multicultural coexistence is advocated, and the number of immigrants is increasing, how long can we continue to look down on foreign national teachers and aspiring teachers who have a passion for education?

As a foreign national teacher teaching history at a private high school, I gave a lesson in September on the theme of the 100th anniversary of the Great Kanto Earthquake in a classroom welcoming students from Vietnam. In 1923, a group gripped by rumors and frenzy killed Koreans and those they perceived to be Korean.

In the second half of the class, we carefully considered "how we can *all* live together." Me, you, that person—living together. A space that is a "microcosm of society" co-creating a future of multicultural coexistence is much more realistic when it is rich in diversity.

I hope to continue building "society" from the "microcosm" while being lectured by my students.