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At first, I almost didn’t apply to the Reischauer Scholars Program (RSP). As someone with primarily Eastern European heritage, I doubted that I had a unique perspective to add to a coalition of students dedicated to learning more about Japan’s rich culture, economics, history, and society. In my mind, my personal experience couldn’t have been further from the course’s content. However, as a recent graduate of the RSP, my experience has completely shattered my previous misconceptions. Stanford’s RSP isn’t just an online program that gives students a comprehensive, in-depth view of Japan—it brings together a community of academically and socially diverse individuals from across the United States, along with their manifold perspectives, to build future leaders in the U.S.–Japan relationship. 

My path to the RSP began in Model United Nations (MUN) and my tenth-grade world history class that encouraged me to delve deeper into the political and ideological theories that govern and shape our society. Japan was a major focus for multiple of my MUN conferences, where I descended into multiple Wikipedia rabbit-holes on a wide range of topics, from Japan’s stance on sustainable development to socio-political effects on Japanese gender equality quotas. Furthermore, throughout my dual enrollment in a MicroMasters program in international jurisprudence and a course on East Asian culture and law, I learned more about the intricacies of Japan’s Eurocentric depiction in the geo-political sphere. In the international law resources I was exposed to, Japan was often portrayed as “lawless,” while the Western legal system was presented as the “key” to maintaining a proper rule of law in East Asia. Through the latter course which focused on the intersection between Japanese culture and law, Japanese law was accurately shown as an extension of the rich Japanese culture I had learned about in my history classes; in this regard, each cultural facet needed to be taken into account with the legal theory of the state. Since then, I’ve been hooked on understanding the role of implicit motives in shaping international policy and cultural precedent in jurisprudence. At the RSP, I have been able to pursue my passions alongside like-minded peers.

From the first week of the RSP, the diversity of students was evident. Each of my fellow peers offered their own outlook on topics ranging from “Religions in Japan” to “The Power of Popular Culture.” Across online forums and virtual classrooms, complex concepts were thoroughly discussed through witty back-and-forth banter, new ideas were buttressed by comprehensive research, and interconnected themes were explored via collaboration. The RSP’s inclusive and dynamic environment was one of my favorite aspects of the program. Weekly Zoom meetings with our instructor, Ms. Naomi Funahashi, and my peers allowed me to grasp unfamiliar concepts and take a deep dive into the things I didn’t previously know through active engagement. Moreover, at each virtual classroom, we had the opportunity to meet government officials, business leaders, and scholars at the forefront of U.S.–Japan relations. Each speaker’s ideas will forever retain importance to my understanding of the Japanese American experience, which remains equally relevant in the modern day.

The RSP’s commitment to educating the future leaders of the U.S.–Japan relationship is shown in its culmination. Near the final months of the 20-week RSP, students are given the opportunity to explore a topic of their choosing related to Japan or the U.S.–Japan dynamic. In my final paper, titled “The Rite of Rights: An Examination of Socio-Cultural Precedent in Japanese Law,” I coalesced my RSP education with my interest in international and Japanese jurisprudence. Even after its conclusion, the RSP continues the discussion on U.S.–Japan relations for the years to come by compiling and sharing all the research papers written within that year’s program. 

Ultimately, I am grateful to the Reischauer Scholars Program for creating a mosaic of different experiences and cultures by bringing together my peers. Throughout my involvement in the RSP, I have strengthened my belief in the cross-cultural intersections that bind us all together. It is through these bonds, along with empathy and compassion, that the RSP helps students weave themselves into the U.S.–Japan international tapestry, shaping the world. 

The next session of the Reischauer Scholars Program will run from February to June 2022. The application will open September 6, 2021.

Stanford e-Entrepreneurship Japan is an online course offered to high school students in Japan. It is offered annually in fall and spring by 91�Թ� and the Japanese NPO e-Entrepreneurship, led by . The instructors are Irene Bryant (fall) and Maiko Tamagawa Bacha (spring). The goal of the course is to foster creative thinking and problem-solving skills in students with a focus on innovation to address social issues.

Because of my experiences with social issues in Brazil, Argentina, the United States, Japan, and Mexico, my decision to apply to Stanford e-Entrepreneurship Japan—a course for those with a passion in social issues and innovation—was immediate. However, when I started taking the course, I had little idea of the connection between business and social issues. Soon after classes began, I saw real-life examples of how unique innovations can improve the world. Every two weeks, a different professional gave us a lecture. Getting to hear stories of their first-hand experiences as entrepreneurs was an opportunity I never received at school, and I embraced it fully by asking question after question.

My favorite lecture was one given by David “Mas” Masumoto, who runs a sustainable peach farm in California. Through his lesson on growing organic peaches and passing down the farm to his children, I was able to make connections to a larger social issue in Japan: the lack of young people in agriculture. His lecture provided insights on specific ways professionals were practicing social entrepreneurship.

The course was certainly demanding. After the lectures, we had to work on group projects to come up with our own solutions, which enabled me to further understand and practice aspects of social entrepreneurship. It took hours of preparation and as I was one of the only students who lived abroad, I sometimes had to work with peers at ungodly hours. Nonetheless, all the hard work was absolutely worth it. The diversity provided by the unique regional backgrounds of other students located all around Japan exposed me to important perspectives on social issues.

For the final project, which included an individual research report on a social issue and a group business pitch, we had full control of what we wanted to do. The individual paper was refreshing for me because at school there is never this much flexibility, and it was a perfect chance for me to explore my interest in addressing social issues like environmental sustainability through entrepreneurship. For the group project, we created a business plan for a sustainable toothpaste. I have never worked with such motivated, diverse, and brilliant students willing to put in so many hours of work. Through the project, not only did I get to put skills that I learned during the program into practice, but I also made lifelong friends who shared the same passions as me.

Finally, Stanford e-Entrepreneurship Japan has grown my interest in how social issues can be resolved through entrepreneurship, and has motivated me to pursue not only the exploration of social issues, but business in college. It is a course like no other, with wonderful peers, invaluable lessons, and a supportive teaching staff. I encourage people who are curious about social issues or business in general to take advantage of the program.

Stanford e-Oita is an online course for high school students in Oita Prefecture in the southwestern island of Kyushu, Japan, that is sponsored by the Oita Prefectural Government. Launched in fall 2019, it is offered by the Stanford Program on International and Cross-Cultural Education (91�Թ�) in collaboration with the Oita Prefectural Board of Education.

On January 8, 2021, Stanford e-Oita students were treated to a lecture by , a professional violinist who was born and raised in Oita Prefecture. After graduating from Oita Uenogaoka High School, Hirotsuru attended and graduated from Harvard University and The Julliard School. She has performed with Yo-Yo Ma and the Silkroad Ensemble, and as a soloist at major venues in the United States and Japan, including Carnegie Hall, John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts, and Suntory Hall, and at the Beppu Argerich Music Festival in Oita. After graduation from The Julliard School, Hirotsuru started her own company in New York City where she manages her own music promotional business. She is currently living in Japan.

Hirotsuru’s talk was titled “Sumire’s Journey in the U.S. and Japan.” While sharing thoughts on her upbringing in Oita, she had invaluable advice to the students like encouraging them to think about their strengths and the importance of balancing academics and extracurricular activities, in her case, practicing the violin. While introducing a typical day at Harvard, she emphasized the importance of building community in formal settings (e.g., through classes and musical practices and performances) as well as informal settings (e.g., having meals in her dorm with friends with diverse interests).

Since completing college, she has published several books. While sharing one of her publications, she underscored the critical importance of time management and setting benchmarks to reach one’s goals. She engaged students in thinking about a 2021 new year’s resolution and considering what needs to be achieved by June 2021, and even thinking about what needs to be done daily to meet their resolution.

Setting benchmarks resonated with Stanford e-Oita Instructor and fellow Harvard alumna, . Yamashita commented, “My e-Oita students were inspired by Sumire, who shared her personal journey from her hometown of Oita to the world stage. There’s a tendency to look outward and far away for new experiences but Sumire showed them how change can start in their own backyard. She talked about a cross-cultural program that she co-founded called ‘,’ where Harvard undergraduates are invited to Oita to teach workshops and engage with Japanese students from many countries in English. It was one way that she brings her global experiences back to Oita, which is something I encourage my students to do.” Hirotsuru noted that she was inspired to begin Summer in JAPAN in Oita because she didn’t have any resource like that when she was growing up in Oita. “That was definitely one of my motivations to start a program like this.”

The emphasis on goal setting inspired a student to ask Hirotsuru about her current goal as a violinist. Hirotsuru replied that she aspires “to reach more people through music because right now, I feel like… classical music is often considered the music of people who have money… and access to concert halls. But I would like to bring my music to many people who are not only rich… I think music is something really important when you’re growing up.”

Hirotsuru’s talk also prompted one of the student musicians—a flutist of her high school brass band—to ask how Hirotsuru managed to balance both academics and violin practice. Hirotsuru responded by sharing, “You have a capacity of more than 100 percent… I think that you can put your effort completely on academics and flute at the same time by managing your time very efficiently.” Yamashita hopes that this lesson will be one that students will embrace far into their futures.

Reflecting on her experience with the students in Oita, Hirotsuru noted the following, “I was impressed by the students’ active participation in class—even through Zoom, I was able to see how their eyes were filled with excitement and passion for the future. I truly believe that there will be more opportunities for the students to expand their perspectives from Oita and beyond, as long as they keep their minds open.”

91�Թ� is grateful to Oita Governor Katsusada Hirose whose vision made this course possible. 91�Թ� is also appreciative of Teacher Consultants Keisuke Toyoda and Hironori Sano for their unwavering support of Stanford e-Oita.

On December 10, 2020, 44 educators from across the United States joined a webinar titled “Global Human Rights and Minority Social Movements in Japan.” The webinar was offered on Human Rights Day, 72 years after the Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR) was adopted. The featured speaker was , who is the Henri H. and Tomoye Takahashi Professor and Senior Fellow in Japanese Studies at the Shorenstein APARC at 91�Թ�. He is also Director of the Japan Program, a Senior Fellow of FSI, and a Professor of Sociology.

The webinar can be viewed below:

Tsutsui has written extensively about human rights, including his latest book Rights Make Might: Global Human Rights and Minority Social Movements in Japan. In his talk, Tsutsui introduced the three most salient minority groups in Japan—the Ainu, an indigenous people in the northern part of Japan whose numbers range from 25,000 to 30,000; resident Koreans (Zainichi), a colonial legacy whose numbers have hovered around a half million; and the Burakumin, a former outcaste group whose numbers are approximately three million.

Tsutsui set the context for his talk by providing an overview of the global expansion of human rights dating from the UDHR in 1948 to the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights and the International Covenant on Economic, Social, and Cultural Rights—both adopted by the UN General Assembly in 1966 and came into force from 1976. Human rights are now established as one of the key principles in the international community. He noted that despite the wide recognition of human rights as an important international norm, whether the institutionalization of human rights in international society has done what it was intended to do still remains debatable.

Concerning the era of global human rights in Japan, Japan ratified the two International Covenants noted above in 1979 and has been a member of the UN Commission on Human Rights since 1982 and the UN Sub-Commission on the Promotion and Protection of Human Rights since 1984. These as well as participation in other forums have impacted ethnic minorities in Japan.

Tsutsui shared the historical backgrounds and key issues concerning the Ainu and resident Koreans. Concerning the Ainu, he underscored their lack of ethnic/indigenous pride—much less political activism—prior to the 1970s. This was largely because of their dependence on government welfare and strong pressure for assimilation. He then highlighted how Ainus’ self-perception changed after the 1970s as a result of their exposure to the Global Indigenous Rights Movement, which led to a reawakening of indigenous pride and the rise of Ainu activism.

Concerning resident Koreans, Tsutsui introduced their history prior to the 1970s as Japanese colonial era immigrants and their descendants who came to Japan or were brought to Japan by increasingly forceful means towards the end of World War II. He discussed issues concerning their loss of Japanese citizenship after World War II, resulting practices such as the fingerprinting of resident Koreans, and hurdles to mobilize for civil and human rights due to their non-citizen status and divided identities. Like the Ainu, things began to change from the 1970s with the beginning of the human rights era in Japan. For example, from the 1980s, encouraged by universal human rights principles, some resident Koreans refused to be fingerprinted, a practice they had previously resented but reluctantly complied with, and by 1985, over 10,000 resident Koreans joined in refusal. Resident Koreans made appeals to the UN Commission on Human Rights and other international forums to pressure the Japanese government. Amid mounting pressure domestically and internationally, the government terminated the fingerprinting practice for permanent residents in Japan (largely resident Koreans) in 1993, and for all alien residents by 2000.

Tsutsui summarized his talk by noting that global human rights galvanized minority social movements in Japan in four ways: (1) they empowered local actors with a new understanding about rights; (2) they provided political opportunities at the global level; (3) they increased international flows of mobilization resources; and (4) they provided vocabulary to frame their causes effectively. He closed his talk with a question, “Should we have hope or despair in terms of the future of human rights in the world?” and noted that the empowering capacity of global human rights is often overlooked, that reform takes time, that it is important to identify conditions conducive to improvement, and that contemporary backlash poses serious challenges.

In reflecting on the webinar with the educators, Tsutsui noted, “I was honored to present my work to the educators who can teach students in their formative years how important it is to continuously work to support human rights and how these efforts in the local context can change human rights practices not just locally but globally. This is a particularly important moment in the United States and in the world to reinforce the importance of human rights and democracy, as fundamental principles of democratic governance are challenged and protection of basic rights is in jeopardy. In these challenging times, I’d like to emphasize the importance of continuing grassroots-level work to support the principles of human rights and democracy. Ideas matter, and education shapes the future of our world.”

Teachers might consider some of the following as essential questions to raise with their students after viewing the lecture by Professor Tsutsui:

• How does the Ainu experience compare to the experience of Native Americans?
• How do textbooks in Japan cover ethnic minorities, and how is this similar and different to how ethnic minorities in the United States are covered in textbooks?
• How was ethnic minority participation in the Japanese military during World War II similar and different to ethnic minority participation in the U.S. military during World War II?
• What role can museums that focus on ethnic minorities play in educating the public, e.g., National Ainu Museum, National Museum of African American History and Culture?
• How is the backlash against ethnic minorities in Japan, e.g., being perceived as receiving special benefits, similar or different to that of ethnic minorities in the United States?
• Why is it important for young students to understand the significance of universal human rights?

The webinar was made possible through the support of the Freeman Foundation’s initiative. The webinar was a joint collaboration between 91�Թ� and Stanford’s , and the . Special thanks to Dr. Dafna Zur, CEAS Director, and John Groschwitz, CEAS Associate Director, for their support; to Dr. Gi-Wook Shin, APARC Director, and Dr. Karen Eggleston, APARC Deputy Director, for their support; and to 91�Թ�’s Naomi Funahashi for facilitating the webinar and Sabrina Ishimatsu for planning the webinar.

The Stanford e-Japan Program provided me with the opportunity to take insightful lectures by front runners in various fields (for example, ambassadors, lawyers, and university professors), and to participate in absolutely riveting virtual classrooms, during which we could confer and raise questions about issues pertaining to the lectures.

It was my gateway to cross-cultural understanding and international studies, and it was the key to finding my passion, as I realized that law and business were my specific areas of interests. The program pushed me to seek further education in those fields and learn more intensively.

In high school, I conducted comparative research between India and Pakistan, analyzing honor killing court cases dating back to the late 19th century, judicial systems, etc. I realized how law can reinforce social norms by signaling approval and dissent through legal decisions, and how a revision of judicial systems can have massive social impact. I decided to major in Japanese law to gain knowledge and insight into these legal regimes domestically, and to pursue my dream of addressing social injustice.

Studying law at the University of Tokyo was both rewarding and invigorating. I had chances to engage in frank discussions with professors about civil procedures and criminal law, scrutinize documents, participate in seminars, and write a research paper about criminal prosecutions for defamation in Japan. Whilst taking classes, I also had internship opportunities to see how law was put into practice at a number of domestic and international law firms, and these experiences greatly assisted in developing my practical and theoretical expertise in law.

At the same time, having an interest in business, I launched a project with university peers to tackle food insecurity in Asia with the ultimate aim of reducing social injustice through social entrepreneurship. The idea was to produce an environmentally sustainable source of animal feed and provide a new source of income for the local population. We presented this plan and placed in the top six in the Asian Regional Hult Prize competition—one of the world’s largest international social entrepreneurship competitions for students—and took our project further.

Stanford e-Japan was much more than a virtual classroom, as it introduced me to so many caring and enthusiastic educators who encouraged me to go beyond my limits, and it equipped me with the skills that are essential for learning, such as problem-solving, research, and communication skills. With these skills and personal ties, I intend to keep challenging myself and carrying on my lifelong journey of learning.

For several years, I had been anticipating September 2, 2020—the 75th anniversary of the end of World War II—to be a momentous day. And, with the approach of the 75th anniversary of the permanent closing on November 28, 1945 of the Poston Relocation Center, the concentration camp that detained my family during World War II, I also anticipated that 2020 would be a time of reflection on the question, “What does it mean to be an American?”

In 1942, approximately 120,000 people of Japanese descent—approximately two-thirds of whom were U.S. citizens—primarily along the West Coast were incarcerated by their country, the United States. My grandparents and parents were among them. They were sharecroppers in Salinas, California, prior to the Pearl Harbor attack and following Executive Order 9066, which was signed by President Franklin D. Roosevelt on February 19, 1942, they were forced to leave their homes and move to the Salinas Assembly Center, which was hastily built on the Salinas fairgrounds and racetracks. A few months later on the Fourth of July, they were sent to the Poston Relocation Center, Arizona, one of the ten permanent concentration camps for Japanese Americans.

Hachiro Mukai grave, Epinal American Cemetery, Dinozé, France; courtesy Virginie Benoit-Erhard, Epinal American Cemetery

This month, in addition to reading about solemn ceremonies marking the 75th anniversary of the end of World War II, I read “Trump: Americans Who Died in War Are ‘Losers’ and ‘Suckers’,” in The Atlantic, September 3, 2020, with difficulty as I thought about Hachiro and others who had given the ultimate sacrifice and their Gold Star Families. Through Shinichi, I know that Hachiro and the other Japanese American soldiers wanted to prove that they were every bit as American as anyone else. As a high school student from 1968 to 1972, I struggled with accepting what my family had endured during World War II in part because my high school U.S. history textbook mentioned nothing of their experience, as my family was not part of the “master narrative” of U.S. history.

I had anticipated that the 75th anniversary of the end of the war would prompt unity and reflections on how far we have come as a nation in terms of embracing diversity. Instead, I will remember 2020 as one of the most divisive years in my lifetime. My hope is that the free educational web-based curriculum toolkit—“What Does It Mean to Be an American?”—will help us in a modest way to move toward “a more perfect Union.” Authored by 91�Թ�’s Rylan Sekiguchi for use at the high school and college levels, the curriculum examines what it means to be American. The website was developed by the Mineta Legacy Project’s Dianne Fukami, Debra Nakatomi, and Amy Watanabe in partnership with 91�Թ�. Inspired by the life and career of Secretary Norman Y. Mineta, the six themed lessons are: Immigration, Civil Liberties & Equity, Civic Engagement, Justice & Reconciliation, Leadership, and U.S.–Japan Relations. Mineta, as a 10-year-old boy, was incarcerated with his family at the Heart Mountain Relocation Center, Wyoming, one of the ten permanent concentration camps. In the video “,” Mineta notes the following when asked why he wears an American flag pin on his lapel.

The six standards-aligned lessons use primary source materials, interactive exercises, and personal videos that connect to students’ lives and showcase a diverse range of American voices—from young adults to former U.S. Presidents Bill Clinton and George W. Bush whose replies to “What does it mean to be an American?” are highlighted .

The curriculum is designed to encourage critical thinking through class activities and discussions and introduce new voices and perspectives on issues that are as relevant today as they have been for much of America’s past. One of the most compelling videos focuses on “,” which prompted me to reflect on Shinichi’s encounter in Europe with the segregated 92nd Infantry Division, composed of African Americans, who along with the 442nd helped to break through the Gothic Line, the final main German defensive line in northern Italy. My hope is that young students today—when considering civil liberties-related issues—will also remember the sacrifices of those before them.

There are three objectives of the curriculum. The first is to empower educators to foster student inquiry around the question “What does it mean to be an American?” The second is to help educators discover how best to leverage the resource for their own classrooms. We hope that teachers will reflect on the toolkit vis-à-vis specific curricular needs and assess its optimal integration into their existing practice. The third is to have students consider the importance of the six themes in their lives and to know that they too have important voices in the shaping of what it means to be an American.

I wish that my high school U.S. history teacher had introduced curriculum like this to me. To learn, for example, that the 442nd Infantry Regiment had become the most decorated unit in U.S. military history for its size and length of service—including 21 Medals of Honor and eight Presidential Unit Citations—would have given Hachiro a voice in the curriculum. Many Americans like Hachiro remain buried in Europe. Each year, French people, whose towns were liberated by the 442nd, kindly pay their respects at Hachiro’s grave. I hope that future U.S. presidents will visit cemeteries like the Epinal American Cemetery as well.

I grew up with STEM as my backbone, my crutch. My parents met in engineering school, and the childhood they gifted me with was one filled with opportunities to get my hands dirty. The identity I built for myself was defined by asking questions about snail slime, aphids on roses, simply everything about the “hows” and “whys” of the biological world around me. And not once did I think to steer my gaze elsewhere in hopes of enriching my worldview. To an elementary school Mallika, understanding science and science alone would gift me the tools to solve the world’s greatest problems.

So, of course, it confused me to see my dad, an equity analyst focused on the semiconductor and green tech industries, travel so often to Japan, China, and Korea. Hands filled with stuffed animal pandas wearing qi paos, he would talk on and on about East Asia’s incomparable ability to merge the old with the new: cities at the forefront of tech innovation were sparkled with architecture and customs from lineages spanning thousands of years. My dad sold the intrigue. Not in an orientalist way, rather through a deep appreciation of recognizing the past in an effort to rebrand the future. I just had to get my peek.

I started learning Japanese in fourth grade, Chinese in seventh, and was in love with the languages. They were logical, pictographic, and simply scientific. But the classes were one-dimensional, one-epochical almost, if that’s even a word. What they were able to capture in unraveling the past did nothing in describing the translation to the future. I wanted to get a grasp of contemporary issues to eventually find ways to apply this newfound information to my STEM pursuits.

Fast forward a few years, a semester of 91�Թ�’s Reischauer Scholars Program under my belt, I loved my experience with the 91�Թ� program so much that I had to return for a second program. Naturally, I applied to 91�Թ�’s China Scholars Program (CSP) my junior year of high school, and compounded with classes like AP U.S. History and Honors Chinese, my worldview felt interconnected. Everything I was studying added to an accumulated web of information, weaving connections between economics, public policy, technology, and culture. I wrote my final paper on how bureaucracy, educational equity, and green technology could help China establish itself as the (not a) global superpower, and it had quite honestly been my first exploration in drawing conclusions between seemingly disparate fields. For someone who had conducted many science research projects in the past, CSP and its instructor, Dr. Tanya Lee, challenged and stretched me in ways I never thought possible.

At MIT, we’re taught the merits of collaboration through group-based projects and exceedingly difficult problem sets. However, I often doubt the translatability of this approach in the real world. Students of similar academic backgrounds collaborate on similar projects with similar solutions. The web of information synthesized by students of different majors is undeniably extremely useful in developing real-world solutions. Completing CSP through a STEM lens was a unique way of doing just that. I met students from Virginia all the way to Hong Kong who were passionate about everything under the sun. The variation in perspectives livened discussion boards, and I could almost liken the completed responses to a mosaic: each student had their unique piece to offer, such that the image created was one of heightened clarity. Since then, I’ve taken classes on Chinese, on economics, and even on how to stage revolutions, all as a result of understanding the merits of cross-disciplinary and cross-cultural exploration. And who knows, I might even minor in Chinese to pay homage to the language that shaped my worldview.