Note: This piece belongs to a loose series of reflections on my years working with the International Baccalaureate at Ritsumeikan Uji.
Over the years I have written about various moments and characters from that period — the improbable dinner conversations, the bureaucratic skirmishes, the strange coalition of personalities that somehow managed to build something durable inside a large Japanese school system. Pieces such as On the Eventification of Pre-Identified Incidents, Dr. Fox, and On Good and Great Talkers circle around that same institutional landscape from different angles.
This essay goes further back than those. It describes the early years when the program existed mostly on paper, when the staff could still fit around a single table, and when the whole project balanced uneasily between optimism and administrative chaos.
Looking back now, what strikes me most is not the difficulty of the work itself but the sheer improbability of the outcome. Programs like this often fail quietly long before authorization. The fact that ours did not is largely due to a small group of people who were willing, for a time, to push far harder than their job descriptions required.
This piece is my attempt to record that moment before memory smooths it into something simpler than it really was.
Epigraph
“It’s like a visit to the moon
or to that other star
I guess you’ll go for nothing
if you really want to go that far.”
— Leonard Cohen, Death of a Ladies’ Man
I. The Call-Up
In February 2008 I was called down to the principal’s office at Ritsumeikan Uji.
At that point I had been at the school for several years already. I had started part-time in 2002–03, moved to full-time shortly after, and by 2007 had landed on what I later called the “man under the bridge contract.” The bridge in question was a middleman arrangement run through a broker named Masaki Yasumoto, a classic education-world intermediary. These figures flourish in private school systems: part fixer, part recruiter, part relationship broker.
Masaki was a funny guy. We were friendly in those days. He invited me to his Christmas parties—cheap hotel buffet affairs—and occasionally took me out for yakiniku. I later fell out with him, but that belongs to another story. At the time we were on good terms.
Through Masaki’s bridge contract the school kept me on staff while avoiding a full tenured appointment.
So in February 2008 I was teaching SEL under Mary Walters and a handful of social studies classes. Business Management was still in my future.
That morning Principal Kitamura and Vice-Principal Terada called me in.
We sat on the little sofa chairs in the office.
They pitched me the role of IB Diploma Programme Coordinator.
At the time I knew almost nothing about the International Baccalaureate.
My entire knowledge base consisted of one fact: a school called Katoh Gakuen near Numazu had introduced IB in 1999. That information had come secondhand from Mr. Ogawa, our Head of High School.
That was it.
No workshops.
No training.
No background.
Just the idea.
When they asked if I would take the job, I said yes—on one condition.
I needed a sennin appointment when the bridge contract ended.
Kitamura said we could revisit the matter in a year.
Good enough.
I went home and discussed it with my wife.
The next day I accepted.
I was 34 years old and this felt like my big break.
I was determined to make the most of it.
II. The Principals
When I first arrived at Ritsumeikan Uji in 2002 the principal was Kawasaki.
I barely knew him.
He made speeches at opening ceremonies and graduations but I never interacted with him personally. The gossip around the school was that he was a major power broker in the wider Ritsumeikan system. The other rumor—less flattering—was that he hired office staff based largely on the attractiveness of their legs. Whether true or not, the administrative office at the time did indeed contain several strikingly good-looking employees.
In 2008 Kawasaki left the school and moved to a senior role at Ritsumeikan Suzaku.
Later he attempted to become Chancellor of the entire university system. That campaign became a minor drama inside the organization. My immediate boss at the time, Dr. Fox, supported him, as did another senior administrator, Higashitani.
At one point Kawasaki’s campaign team came to Uji to gather support.
In the meeting room one of the Suzaku representatives looked at me—sitting there in a suit—and said:
“Dr. Fox, we are so happy to have your support.”
Fox was about 65 years old at the time.
I was 39.
But apparently one foreigner looked like another.
It was harmless and genuinely funny.
Kawasaki ultimately lost the election by a handful of votes and eventually left the Ritsumeikan system.
III. The Placeholder
Kawasaki’s successor at Uji was Kitamura.
This appointment shocked everyone.
Kitamura had been Head of the Junior High School and had relatively little senior administrative experience. Overnight he jumped several levels and became principal.
Only later did I learn the reason.
Kitamura was essentially a placeholder.
The real plan was for Shiozaki, a senior administrator who had been on extended medical leave, to return once his health recovered. Shiozaki was nearing retirement age and the system wanted him back in charge before he finished his career.
Kitamura’s job was simply to keep the seat warm.
And to his credit, he did exactly that.
He also gave me my big break.
Years later I saw him again at the Kyoto girls’ Ekiden race on Christmas Eve. He was wearing a worn sweater and looked slightly down on his luck.
I didn’t exactly admire him as a leader.
But I always felt compassion for him.
He took the bullet for the squad.
IV. Hashizume
Another key figure in the early IB story was Hashizume.
Hashizume occupied a strange position.
Officially he was an office administrator.
In practice he was the number two power in the building. All major financial decisions flowed through him.
Every yen connected to the IB project passed through his hands.
His real passion, however, was American football.
He coached the boys’ football team and took the job extremely seriously. Years later he left Uji entirely after being recruited by a major university program in Tokyo.
Dr. Higashitani, who despised him, called the hiring university “idiots and imbeciles” when he heard the news.
Hashizume was also a prodigious drinker.
We went out drinking together exactly once.
It started at ING, the little rock bar in Kiyamachi.
Then we moved to several other bars.
Then it was 3 AM.
Then Hashizume started calling friends who owned additional bars and asking them to stay open.
They agreed.
By the time I finally staggered home it was about 4:30 in the morning.
The next day I was violently hungover.
Pocari Sweat. Miso soup. Saltines.
Nothing stayed down.
By noon I was in the hospital on an IV.
Hashizume, meanwhile, seemed perfectly fine.
V. Terada
The most important administrator in the entire early IB story was Vice-Principal Terada.
Terada had spent fifteen years in the school as a homeroom teacher and grade leader before moving into administration.
When the IB project began he became my direct ally.
Every Tuesday afternoon the school held the Steering Committee meeting.
This was the arena where every IB proposal had to be approved.
My memos would go to Terada first.
He rewrote them in polished Ritsumeikan bureaucratic Japanese and presented them to the committee.
I usually stayed silent.
Terada handled the negotiations.
One day I noticed something interesting.
Whenever someone opposed one of our proposals—especially Ms. Ono, my great nemesis—Terada would cover his mouth with his hand and say something like:
“That is a very good point. We will have to think about that.”
At first I believed him.
Then one day after a meeting I confronted him in a small side room.
He laughed.
“No,” he said.
“We are not thinking about it at all.”
He was simply letting the opposition save face.
That was when I realized I could trust him completely.
VI. Pre-Authorization
Our pre-authorization visit came in May 2009.
The visiting team included Steve Keegan from the IB regional office and Peter MacKenzie, principal of Hiroshima International School.
At that point we barely had a staff.
It was essentially just me and Tim Chanecka, who was helping temporarily until we could hire more teachers.
I had written almost all of the program policies myself—language policy, assessment policy, academic honesty—working largely alone.
The visit went reasonably well.
At one point Keegan left the room and accidentally left his notebook open.
I glanced down.
The only thing written on the page was:
“Stress in the school.”
Fair enough.
We passed pre-authorization.
VII. The Staff
By the time the authorization visit in May 2010 arrived we had assembled an actual team.
The core group looked like this:
- Me — DPC, CAS, TOK, Business Management, and History
- Scott — English A and future homeroom teacher
- Mike — Mathematics, assessment, and scheduling
- Tomoko Wano — Japanese A and translation powerhouse
- Nick Sutton — Physics (part-time)
- Oliver Manlike — Chemistry curriculum design
- Ayako Kurokawa — Visual Arts
Wano in particular was indispensable. She attended every senior meeting, translated every document, and essentially kept the program alive during its early phase.
Without her we would not have survived.
VIII. The Dinners
During the authorization visit we hosted the visiting team for two dinners.
The first night I chose a small izakaya near Kyoto Station.
Mary Walters had warned me that it was “kind of a greasy spoon.”
But when we arrived Peter MacKenzie looked around happily and said:
“This is great. People usually take us to the fanciest restaurant in town to try and impress us.”
Score one for the hokke and the frosty mugs of beer.
The second dinner took place at Suzaku.
Five of us attended: Shiozaki, Keegan, MacKenzie, a sharply dressed Suzaku administrator with a goatee, and me.
At one point MacKenzie’s wine glass ran empty.
There was no waiter nearby.
So I stood up, walked around the table, and refilled his glass.
When I sat down the Suzaku administrator gave me a small approving nod.
Another quiet point scored.
IX. The August Scare
The visit ended.
Then we waited.
Weeks passed.
By mid-August there was still no decision.
At the time I was in Oregon, visiting my family with Sachie and Hugh.
Instead of relaxing I spent the vacation checking email obsessively.
Finally I contacted Keegan.
A few days later he replied.
There was a problem.
Several of our teachers—including me—did not possess formal teaching licenses in our home countries.
I reminded him that we had discussed this already during the visit.
The Kyoto Board of Education did not require Western-style teaching licenses. They evaluated subject knowledge based on transcripts and TESL credentials.
Keegan agreed.
But Peter MacKenzie was raising objections.
So I pushed back.
Politely—but firmly.
The IB operates in over 120 countries.
Mandatory teaching licenses are not a universal requirement.
Then I gathered examples from elite IB schools in the United States whose hiring requirements explicitly did not require teaching licenses.
After that the objection disappeared.
Two weeks later the decision arrived.
Ritsumeikan Uji was officially granted IB World School status.
The certificate—signed by IB Director General Jeffrey Beard—was hung in the principal’s office.
After months of uncertainty, we finally exhaled.
X. Exhaustion
In truth, by that point I was completely spent.
That summer I had also attended the OACAC conference at Babson College as the school’s overseas college counselor.
I had traveled, networked, presented, and worked almost nonstop.
By the time authorization finally arrived I felt less triumphant than drained.
Not depressed.
Just cooked.
The exhaustion lasted until about November 2010.
After that I rallied.
Because the next great milestone was coming.
In April 2011 we would begin our first actual IB teaching.
But that is another story.
Dedication
For the whole team that carried our little IB program through authorization.
A million thank-yous.
And especially for Vice-Principal Terada.
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