Seven Years in Keio

Sadly, my love was one-sided. I struggled in the very faculty dedicated to literature and history, and ended up repeating the year four times. This, I suppose, is what they call a clumsy passion.

 

But in hindsight, choosing to major in Western History in the Faculty of Letters and selecting German—just because I “kind of liked it,” or “it seemed easy to pass” or “I studied it in high school”—was clearly a mistake.

 

And if I trace that mistake back far enough, it probably began in junior high school, when I had no real sense of the future and just drifted along.

 

Thinking about that leaves me with a deep, inescapable sense of regret.

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●Why, oh why, did Professor Rakkyo harbor such animosity?

One might wonder what grave offense led to Professor Rakkyo’s intense hostility. The answer, it seems, lies in his solemn declaration: “Your attitude toward studying is reflected in your grades.” In the grand cosmos of Rakkyo’s worldview, being an internal student in the Faculty of Letters, a repeat-year student, and academically underperforming is nothing short of a trifecta of incompetence. Naturally, such a being could only be met with disdain.

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・The Subcultural Turn in Historical Discourse and the Marginalization of the “Otaku” Student

 

From the 1990s, through the early 2000s, the traditionally conservative and academically rigorous domains of literary and historical discourse in Japan underwent a marked transformation characterized by what may be termed a ‘subcultural turn.’ This phenomenon is exemplified by the widespread popularity of figures such as Shiono Nanami and Ryōtarō Shiba among undergraduate students specializing in history. Notably, neither of these authors possesses formal academic credentials in historiography, nor have they produced peer-reviewed scholarly works. Nevertheless, their publications are frequently consumed as legitimate historical texts, signaling a broader trend toward the amateurization of historical discourse.

 

This trend is particularly pronounced within conservative intellectual circles, where the proliferation of non-specialist interpretations has rendered traditional academic boundaries increasingly porous. While such developments have arguably democratized access to historical knowledge, they have also facilitated the dissemination of revisionist or speculative narratives—often under the guise of ‘history not taught in schools’ or ‘alternative perspectives.’

 

Concurrently, the domain of history has been appropriated by subcultural and ‘otaku’ communities, resulting in a reciprocal engagement wherein subcultural actors not only consume but also produce historical narratives.

This has led to the emergence of highly unorthodox claims—e.g., ‘Hitler was a communist※’ or ‘Japan could have won the Pacific War by invading Hawaii.’ Anecdotal evidence from faculty members suggests that some students have even submitted academic reports asserting that Japan might have prevailed in World War II had it constructed nuclear-powered aircraft carriers.

※It is undeniable that the ideology of the Nazi Party was influenced by socialist elements such as Strasserism and Bombacci of the Italian Fascist Party. However, just as you guys　(if you are asian-sorry) often cannot distinguish between Japanese, Chinese, and Koreans, most Japanese people cannot differentiate between communism and socialism(Marty Robbins: "Ain't I Right?") 

When someone is labeled a “communist,” it is usually done to disparage that person or to discredit communist thought itself.

 

It is plausible to surmise that such epistemological deviations were not uncommon within the student body of this institution’s Department of History. One might further hypothesize that Professor Rakkyo, a figure emblematic of traditional academic rigor, experienced considerable frustration in response to these subcultural incursions. Within this intellectual framework, it would be a logical consequence to regard ‘otaku-style’ or subculturally-inclined students as epistemic adversaries.

 

In my own case, I introduced myself as the organizer of an otaku-related student organization. Like many history-enthusiast otaku, I possess a fragmented and unsystematic understanding of historical processes, while exhibiting an inordinate familiarity with peripheral or anecdotal details. It is therefore conceivable that Professor Rakkyo’s initial froideur toward me was informed by these broader sociocultural dynamics.

 

・Pedantic Proficiency in Peripheral Knowledge and its Pedagogical Discontents

It would be an overstatement to characterize the Department of History at Keio University as the preeminent institution for historical studies in Japan. According to EduRank.org, the department ranks 10th nationally, 109th in Asia, and 598th globally—figures that suggest a respectable but not exceptional standing in the academic hierarchy.

 

Within this context, the seminar led by Professor Rakkyo, which focuses on Holocaust-related research, presents a revealing case study. Among her students—colloquially referred to as “Rakkyo’s children”—there have been instances of a conspicuous lack of familiarity with what might be considered foundational historical references. For example, some students reportedly did not recognize the name Reinhard Heydrich, could not distinguish between the Sturmabteilung (SA) and the Schutzstaffel (SS), or were unaware of what the acronym ‘SS’ stands for. While it is conceivable that such ignorance was feigned, the fact remains that such knowledge is not requisite for achieving a high GPA within the program. Consequently, these details are often relegated to the status of ‘trivial minutiae.’

In contrast, despite my own substandard academic performance, I possessed a relatively detailed knowledge of precisely these peripheral matters. It is plausible that this incongruity—between my academic standing and my command of what might be deemed non-essential knowledge—provoked a negative reaction from Professor Rakkyo. In effect, my behavior may have transgressed an implicit pedagogical norm: that those lacking formal academic competence ought not to assert themselves through superficial displays of erudition.

 

In an effort to improve my participation grade, I frequently volunteered answers to what were, in essence, factual ‘quiz-like’ questions posed during class. Ironically, this strategy appears to have backfired. Rather than being interpreted as engagement, my interventions may have been perceived as presumptuousness—an unwelcome intrusion of pedantic cleverness from a student otherwise deemed academically deficient.

 

 

・Internal Admission, Academic Delay, and the Burden of Social Labeling in the Rakkyo Paradigm

Within the epistemological framework espoused by Professor Rakkyo, students admitted internally from affiliated high schools are often perceived as privileged and complacent (so-called ‘bonbons’), while those who have repeated academic years are summarily categorized as intellectually deficient and morally indolent. In my particular case, such characterizations may not be entirely inaccurate. However, the imposition of these labels from the outset—prior to any substantive academic engagement—precluded the possibility of redemption or reevaluation. That said, the ultimate responsibility for this trajectory lies with my own inadequacies.

 

Had I exerted appropriate effort during my years at the affiliated high school, I might have gained admission not to the Faculty of Letters, but to the more prestigious Faculties of Commerce or Law. Furthermore, my decision to pursue German language and Western history was made on the basis of vague personal interest, rather than strategic academic planning. Given my limited academic aptitude, it would have been prudent to prioritize survival within the institutional structure—namely, by cultivating relationships with senior students and acquiring insider knowledge regarding departmental expectations. Such foresight might have enabled me to select a less academically precarious specialization.

 

Moreover, had I achieved a higher GPA during my undergraduate studies, I might have been able to transfer into alternative disciplines such as sociology or ethics, rather than remaining within the Western history track. In this sense, my three-year delay in graduation can be interpreted as the cumulative consequence of a broader pattern of adolescent negligence and a failure to engage with life decisions in a deliberate and reflective manner.

 

Of the eighteen students who enrolled in Professor Rakkyo’s course, four—including myself—ultimately repeated a year.

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●Afftermath

At the start of the new academic year, I dutifully visited my seminar professor in Western History to offer a polite greeting. The response, however, was less than cordial:

 

“Ah yes, I’ve already heard from Professor Rakkyo about your rule violation.”

 

I attempted to clarify that this so-called “violation” was a misunderstanding, but before I could get more than a few words in, the professor erupted:

 

“That’s exactly the problem! Emailing a professor to ask for a grade change—such entitlement! That’s what’s wrong with your attitude!”

 

The conversation ended with a dramatic “Enough!”—a clear signal that further discussion was not only unwelcome but forbidden. Apparently, sending an email to a professor is tantamount to petitioning the Emperor himself. Perhaps I had unwittingly become Tanaka Shōzō, staging a lone protest against the imperial bureaucracy of academia.

 

It seems that after I sent the email, a private discussion took place between this professor and Professor Rakkyo, resulting in the former aligning himself with the latter. Solidarity, it would appear, was swiftly established. And yet, irony abounds: I later heard from one of the ‘Rakkyo Children’ that Professor Rakkyo had been complaining about this very professor, saying:

 

> “I won’t name names, but there are professors who barely read reports from their students’ theses. What should we do about that?”

 

Ah, the tragic comedy of academic life—where even your allies are not spared from your disdain. When I heard this, I was filled with a deep, quiet sense of futility. To be scolded by one professor, only to learn that he too is being disparaged by the very person he defended—what a profoundly melancholic farce.

 

 

●To My Juniors: A Cautionary Tale

By some stroke of fortune, I managed to remain enrolled at the university. And then, as if the gods of academia had decided to throw me a bone, another miracle occurred: the dreaded course taught by Professor Rakkyo—mandatory and inescapable, with no option to choose your instructor—was, for one year only, assigned to a different professor. Thanks to this rare alignment of the stars, I completed the course with a modest but merciful grade of B. As of now (2021), I find myself simply waiting for graduation, a quiet epilogue to a rather turbulent academic journey.

 

Who Should Probably Avoid Majoring in History at the Faculty of Letters:

 

• The ‘earnest-but-useless’ type  

• Students who have repeated a year  

• Internal admittees from affiliated schools  

• The pampered and privileged  

• The socially withdrawn  

• The gloomy and awkward  

• The stereotypical ‘otaku’  

• Those with an ‘otaku face’

• Subculture enthusiasts  

• People with poor enunciation  

• The friendless  

• Those who struggle with their second foreign language  

• Students with poor grades  

• People who are oddly knowledgeable about countries that never appear on standardized exams  

• Those who simply like a particular country a little too much

 

Alongside ruined roués with questionable means of support and of dubious origin, degenerate and adventurous scions of the bourgeoisie, there were vagabonds, discharged soldiers, discharged convicts, runaway galley slaves, swindlers, charlatans, lazzaroni, pickpockets, tricksters, gamblers, procurers, brothel keepers, porters, literati, organ grinders, rag-pickers, knife-grinders, tinkers, beggars; in short, the entirely undefined, disintegrating mass, thrown hither and yon, which the French call la bohème.

The Eighteenth Brumaire (Karl Marx )

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Insert background which you dislike here and make your own two minutes of hate!

 

 

 

●In Conclusion

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As a humble footnote in the grand narrative of the Faculty of Letters, I’ve come to realize that quoting famous sayings or classical poetry gives the illusion of intellectual depth. So, in a final act of academic theater, allow me to cite a few—purely for the aesthetic of wisdom, of course.

 

"If you say you stopped using translation software partway through, then sure—let’s go with that.”

 

“And just to clarify, the phrase, ‘so that’s what the translation software says,’ wasn’t 

mine—must’ve come from somewhere else entirely."

 

“[Student's Name] never brought a pencil or pen to class.”

 

"And I’m sure no one in that seminar thought you were using your iPad to play games during class."

 

"Like the double-faced leaves of the kotegashiwa tree on Mount Nara,

so too is he—whichever way the wind blows,he always ends up in the company of flatterers."

• Volume 16, num 3836 from Man'yōshū,the oldest extant collection of Japanese waka (poetry in Classical Japanese)

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I submitted the entire sequence of events from 2017 and 2018—along with the now-infamous ‘Rakkyo email’—to the Student Affairs Office in January 2019, well before my academic probation was finalized. The response I received was both swift and enlightening:

 

“Direct contact with professors is prohibited and may be grounds for disciplinary action.”

 

Ah, of course. Silly me, for thinking that communicating with one’s instructor about a grading concern was part of the educational process. Clearly, I had overstepped my bounds—after all, nothing says “academic integrity” like punishing students for asking questions.