Online | Fumitoshi Kato, Dean of the Graduate School of Media and Governance
2020.05.19
I was naive. I thought that after a little while, we would be able to gather on the verdant campus and enjoy a lively new semester. As we held meeting after meeting about the academic calendar, campus use, and other matters, I realized this would not be possible. With so many different issues, the flow of information branched off in multiple directions, and things became complicated. I started to worry about my own state, wondering if I was even able to make sound judgments. I frequently received scoldings (and encouragement) from my colleagues.
Before long, "Golden Week" was approaching. About a month had already passed since the decision was made to hold this semester's classes online, but my time and energy were consumed by meetings and discussions, and I had made almost no progress in preparing for my classes. April was a difficult month in many ways.
There was no choice but to offer classes online. While I accepted this fact, for some reason I treated it as if it were "someone else's problem." This was not because the classes I teach are ill-suited for an online format. It was out of a concern that if we were preoccupied only with "holding classes" and "continuing classes" amid the COVID-19 turmoil, we might forget something important.
Of course, things were tough on the ground. Faced with a sudden and unreasonable demand to move classes online, not a few of my colleagues were bewildered. On the other hand, some colleagues began to gather equipment and set up their rooms like studios. Their joyful progress was constantly posted on social media. There was also a lively movement to share know-how and tips for online lectures. I take my hat off to their high motivation and energy. But I still watched the growing momentum for going online from a slight distance.
At the end of last year, at a certain gathering, the term "professorial skill," mentioned by Hirataka-san (who "graduated" this March upon retirement), stuck in my mind. The question of "professorial skill" sounded like a sharp encouragement to perfect one's own classes, without relying too much on guest speakers or prioritizing current trends. I took it as an exhortation to be grounded and establish a class on one's own. Group work and fieldwork practicums are not possible as we would like. We remain seated in our chairs, with everything conducted through a screen. While we should be able to expand our physical senses by making full use of videos, various materials, and apps, if visual information alone continues to swell, our legs will only atrophy further. I began to think about what would remain, what should be protected, even when classes go online. I realized this was to ask myself what "professorial skill" truly is.
On April 30, classes began. Although I was a little nervous, the first online class went ahead without any major problems. The students must have strongly felt that they had been kept waiting for a long time. They responded actively to my prompts. It is certainly very different from a classroom lecture. While I am still finding my way through the differences, there is much to learn. After a few weeks, I have come to understand something. It is that (in terms of mindset) you are not speaking to the screen. In other words, it is better not to look at the flat display with its grid of faces, but to imagine what lies beyond it. In some cases, it is okay to turn off the camera. It is enough to strip away as many technical possibilities as you can, focus your consciousness solely on your 'voice,' and deliver it to the other side. The moment I realized this, I felt much more at ease.
To "profess" is, in other words, to create a "space." We do not have much freedom when it comes to physical space. That is precisely why I create time, relying on my 'voice.' Each time, I open the online "classroom" without delay and wait for the students to arrive. When the scheduled time comes, I begin to speak. Some might describe this situation—where you cannot see the other person's face or gauge their reaction—as being like shouting alone into the darkness. But strangely, I do not feel that loneliness (at least for now). Though we cannot see each other, we are gathered online, sharing our time together. My 'voice' goes out to the students. In response, answers come back in the form of questions and comments. The 90 minutes fly by as I feel my 'voice' reaching far away.
Normally, when classes start, I get flustered, feel stressed, and complain, but this year is different. Thanks to the start of classes, I have calmed down. I feel like I can finally get my rhythm back.