Okashira Senryu: With a Heavy Heart | Naoyuki Agawa (Dean of the Faculty of Policy Management)
2007.08.08
Six months have passed since I was appointed Acting Dean of the Faculty of Policy Management at the end of February. Although the "acting" part of my title was removed on June 1, I am, in fact, still just serving out the remainder of the previous dean's term. My own two-year term apparently does not begin for another two months, on October 1.
Since becoming dean, I have been completely deprived of my freedom. When I arrive at the university in the morning, there's some committee meeting or other in Conference Room 1 from 9:00, then another committee meeting in the large conference room from 10:30, followed by receiving guests in the dean's office at 12:00, and a selection committee for some award at 1:00. At this rate, I am dragged from one conference room to another all day long. As a result, I have no time to take a leisurely walk around campus. My opportunities to talk with students have also decreased. I can now truly understand the feelings of a slave deprived of freedom, as described in American constitutional law cases.
Just because I have this position doesn't mean I commute to SFC or Mita every day. During this summer break, I come to the quiet campus—where the number of faculty and students has noticeably dwindled—every few days, but I also often work from home. However, seven days a week, for as long as I am awake, I find myself vaguely concerned about the faculty and the university. What should I do about that matter? I'll have to write a paper for this one. The other day, I had a dream that the Jukukan-kyoku (Keio Corporate Administration) building on the Mita Campus was surrounded by students. I was desperately pushing my way through the crowd, trying to get to the front. I wonder why on earth I have dreams like that.
Thinking only about university work is not good for my physical or mental health. When I'm tired from facing a computer all day, replying to emails, and writing memos, I go for a walk. The apartment I've been renting since returning from the United States two years ago is very close to Yokohama's Chinatown, which is convenient for walks along the harbor. On Sunday evenings, around the time the sun sets behind the skyscrapers of the Minato Mirai district, the area from Yamashita Park to the Shinko Pier, which was bustling all day, finally grows quiet as the crowds thin out. If I'm lucky, a large passenger ship is docked at the Osanbashi Pier, and my feet naturally carry me in that direction. For someone like me who loves ships, greeting a passenger liner is tantamount to a civic duty. Even if there are no passenger ships, the harbor is always alive, with small boats from customs, quarantine, pilot services, the Japan Coast Guard, and the water police coming and going.
Looking at the ships, and looking at the water, calms my mind. This sea connects to distant America and Asia, and out on the water, there are no committees of any kind. As I was thinking this and walking along the waterfront at Yamashita Park where small waves lapped the shore, a large fish jumped. It launched itself into the air, its whole body coiling like a spring. A few seconds later, another one jumped. Then another, over in that direction. Leap, splash. Leap, splash. It was as if the fish were showing off their free existence to me.
With a heavy heart, I come to the harbor, and the fish laugh.
(Posted on: 2007/08/08)