The Keio University administration is an orgy of disinformation and ignorance. I have learned this the hard way during the last two weeks, and I still have a year left to go.
Students have orientation after orientation, during which they are given too much information, not enough information, and out-and-out lies, all at the same time. Here's a (paraphrased) example:
At one of many orientations
Speaker: "Join the National Health Insurance plan. Also get the JASSO Supplemental Health Insurance. You could find yourself in big financial trouble if you don't."
Later, at the International Center office
Student: "Hi. I've joined the National Health Insurance plan. Now I'd like to also get the JASSO insurance, please."
Secretary: "I'm sorry, but JASSO is a scholarship [Note: It's also a scholarship], not an insurance plan. I don't know what you're talking about."
Student: "Here's the piece of paper I got at orientation that says we should join the 'JASSO Supplemental Health Insurance' plan."
Secretary: "I'm sorry, but I don't know what you're talking about."
It turns out that the JASSO insurance thing is something you apply for after you've been maimed and forced to declare bankruptcy.
There are at least a dozen forms to fill out if you'd like to do anything out of the ordinary, like take regular undergraduate classes, use the campus computers, or even breathe. Every form requires not just a signature, but also a hanko (name stamp) from at least five different people, of whom two are never in their offices, one retired years ago, one doesn't actually exist, and the fifth is the Emperor.
So finally you have permission to take undergrad classes. "Great! I'll just look up the classes online!" It turns out that Keio finally found out about the internet, and the administration has, despite its glacial pace, put some information on it. Behold this page, which claims to have a rishū an'nai (registration guide) and a kōgi yōkō (class listing). Actually, if you're interested in bungakubu (Humanities department) classes at Mita campus, as the vast majority of exchange students are, you will be quite surprised to find that the link that says "rishū an'nai, kōgi yōkō" actually only has the kōgi yōkō. Except that the PDF you download doesn't have a title, so you'll only realize that you're missing crucial information after you spend hours trying, unsuccessfully, to decipher the unidentified numbers scattered throughout the listings. Do the teachers know what they mean? Of course not! Didn't you look in the rishū an'nai? It's all in there. You can't get your own copy, so go to the Student Center and use the copy there that you can't take out of the room. Do not pass Go, do not collect $200.
But it gets better! All those classes you thought might be interesting? Nope, you can't take them. That "(4)" next to 98% of the classes in the listings means it's a year-round class. Didn't you know that? It's right there in the rishū an'nai! The Japanese school year starts in March, but you're coming in during the fall semester. That means you will have to spend the next several hours sifting through the hundreds of courses in departments as diverse as "Library Studies" to find those oh-so-rare "(2)" courses that are available in the fall. The "(2)" indicates that it's 2 credits. That's right, though your school might have 3 credit classes that meet 3 times a week, or something logical like that, at Keio they have 2 credit classes that meet once a week. Good luck transferring those credits! By the way, you now have to deal with two bureaucracies instead of just one, and neither is interested in dealing with the other.
So you finally found some interesting-looking courses. Oops, nope, exchange students can't take sōgō kyōiku (general education), enshū (seminar), tokkō (special lecture), or language classes. Assuming you managed to find 13 credits worth of classes despite the arbitrary and pointless restrictions, your task is now to attend the first meeting of each class and get the instructor's permission to take the class, a.k.a. get him or her to stamp your form without putting up too much of a fuss. You look at the class timetable, which actually is available online, check the time and the room number (don't even get me started about the room number system), and head off like a good little faceless lemming.
You make it to the correct room on time. Other students start to trickle in, all of them sitting as far away from you as possible and pretending to ignore you. Class starts, but the teacher is nowhere to be seen. The students start murmuring. Some of them leave. After a minute or two, some of the ones that left come back and beckon for their friends to come with them. They know something that you don't, and they aren't going to share it with you or the rest of the class. There are several possibilities at this point:
- The teacher is late for whatever reason. He may appear at some point, or he may not deign to show up at all. Neither one would be a surprise. Class is considered cancelled after 30 minutes.
- The class was cancelled through official channels, but nobody checked the big-ass bulletin board where they post cancellations.
- The room was changed but nobody checked the bulletin board.
- The room was changed but the teacher never notified anyone.
I have experienced all of these in the last 3 days. Never could I have imagined such a dismal state of affairs on a college campus. Back in the 'States I attend University of Wisconsin-Madison. In Madison, the party may start Thursday night, but the teachers are always on time and there are always signs posted in the old room when a room has changed. In my two years at Madison, I have only had a teacher not show up for a class once, and, coincidentally, he was by far the worst teacher I've ever had in my 14 years of public education (screw you, Twu).
I've actually learned a thing or two on the intarweb, and one of those two things is this: (Correction: I should have known that the intarweb was not a smart enough place to come up with wisdom like this. It was actually Napoleon; thanks to Jason for setting me straight)
"Never ascribe to malice, that which can be explained by incompetence."
- Napoleon Bonaparte
However, there have been rumblings that seem to indicate that some of the events that provoked this rant aren't unintentional. Consider this: Of the four major levels of Japanese classes offered to exchange students at Keio, the lowest (level 1) is almost entirely made up of honkeys like me. (Yes, I said "honkeys." Wanna fight about it?) The three other levels are mostly Asian. Yes, I am aware that on average, an Asian person may be more likely to have better Japanese than a cracker. (Yes, I said "cracker." Wanna take this outside?) However, from my own admittedly unscientific investigation I've found that many of the honkeys and crackers are not happy with where they've been placed, and have been discouraged from trying to advance despite having adequate test scores. Sure, maybe honkeys and crackers like to complain more than Asians, but this all is enough to raise my eyebrow. The right one, if you must know. (My right, not yours.)
Update: Apparently part of the problem is that levels 2 and 3 are fairly full. But if that's all, then why did they have the complainers take a second test in the hopes of advancing? Giving them the benefit of the doubt, let's just say this is another example of the administration not providing enough information.
And consider this equally unscientific anecdote: A friend of mine from UW-Madison was told flat out by her supervising teacher that no, she could not be put in level 4. A Chinese student she talked with later mentioned that... wait for it... she asked to be moved to level 4 and was allowed to do so. This is despite the fact that we all placed into the same class (level 3) originally. And for the record, both my friend and I were offered the opportunity to take regular undergrad classes with other Japanese students, which is better than level 4 anyway. So before you write off my diatribe as a product of my own bitterness, realize that I'm bitter at the whole system in general, not just the level placement.
Why is the system so unbelievably ridiculous? Keio is perhaps the most respected private school in Japan. The frickin' Emperor went to Keio. How could a public school in Wisconsin, of all places, outdo the most prestigious private university in Japan in so many ways: access to information, clarity of said information, ease of dealing with the administration, facilities that don't date back to the pre-war era, etc.; and all this for a fraction of the cost per year? I have several theories: Maybe Keio is resting on its laurels. Maybe they know they can get away with it. Maybe they hate us foreigners and are just trying to make our lives difficult. Who knows? All I know is, the system works: They are this close to breaking my spirit.
