By Wonsuh Song
Stepping through the gate of a girls’ high school in Chiba, I encountered an unfamiliar scene. In a conference room repurposed as a greenroom, eighteen professors from universities across Tokyo and Chiba sat in a line, waiting to deliver ninety‑minute “college lectures.” Second‑year students had pre‑selected their subjects—almost like a shopping list—and now waited in assigned classrooms for the lessons to begin.
The event was run not by teachers but by a private outsourcing firm. From faculty invitations to room assignments and registration, every detail lay in commercial hands, and we professors became “products” on display. No honorarium, no travel stipend—only a small bottle of green tea greeted us. Still, we waved our brochures enthusiastically, urging students to consider our universities. The power dynamic between secondary and higher education had flipped completely.
The reason is plain: Japan’s population of 18‑year‑olds has fallen from 2.05 million in 1992 to about 1.08 million today. With fewer applicants, universities go to the schools, while schools enjoy free, high‑level content and first‑hand admissions information. The event laid bare the irony of public education rendered as market commodity.
For faculty, the cost is real—lost morning hours, reduced research time. Yet institutional survival demands it; every enrollee counts. In today’s “student acquisition war,” the labels of suitor and sought‑after no longer stay fixed.
On the ride back, I reflected that glossy pamphlets mean little unless a university offers a genuine academic community where students can grow. Within the complex ecosystem linking students, high schools, universities, and private brokers, how well are we safeguarding education’s essence? Next time I’m dispatched with nothing more than a green‑tea stipend, I hope to leave the students with questions stronger than the tea itself.
Wonsuh Song (Ph.D.)
Full‑time Lecturer, Shumei University / NKNGO Forum Representative
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