‘Guarding the gate’: the hidden practices behind admission to an Elite Traditional International School in Japan

ABSTRACT

This paper explores the admissions practices of an ‘Elite Traditional International School’ (ETIS) in a large city in Japan. The school is seeing falling enrolment from its traditional clients e.g.‘transnational capitalist class’ families working for Embassies and its alumnus, whilst attracting an emergent aspiring locally-based body of parents representative of a ‘global middle class’ likely seeking advantages, and a new, distinct identity. The resultant tension, between dealing with market-led change (reflecting the reality) and trying to maintain and protect legitimacy as an ideologically driven institution serving the privileged ‘international community’ (reflecting the vision), creates a platform (the nomos) for admission practices that are potentially biased and largely hidden. Utilising a methodology grounded in the work of Pierre Bourdieu we identify how the school adopts a number of ‘unwritten rules’, to ‘guard the gate’. Moreover, the imagined ‘international community’ emerges as a major field of power.

KEYWORDS:

• Bourdieu
• Japan
• international schools
• admissions

Introduction

The ETIS and the nomos

Kenway and Koh (2015, p. 1) ask how it is that power and privilege are produced and sustained in and through elite schools? Subsequent discussion (Howard et al., 2020, p. 564) further reveals that elite schools deliberately and discretely adopt a strategy that:

‘keeps their community closed to the outside world, promotes shared values within their community, and remains faithful to founding principles in their educational project.’

One study (Wilson & Scarborough, 2018) about two elite schools in the United States showed they celebrated open access yet had created obscure mechanisms for exclusion. They had developed a practical image of who best ‘fits’, and this critical issue offers a framework for identifying the practices that both block access in a very subtle, arcane, discrete, almost hidden way.

We turn our attention in this paper to an important issue, of an elite school with an admissions policy and strategy that protects and (re)produces power and privilege for a certain body of stakeholders and blocks others whilst protecting and guarding its values and founding principles, within the still under-researched and under-theorised arena of the ‘Elite Traditional International School’ (ETIS). This is especially true in the context of Japan, the base for our case study school. It is acknowledged (Erichsen & Waldow, 2020) that elite private schools in general face an inherent tension, between for example, seeming to be selective yet accepting poorer children through charitable subscription. Often for the elite private school, social legitimacy is a fragile condition involving a complex balancing act between serving those you want and are expected to, and others that, over time, might seek entry. Our paper explores this tension, one of fragile legitimacy, within the context of the ETIS.

The ETIS is a diverse body but can crudely be identified as delivering an international curriculum with English as the medium of instruction within a nation where English is not a native language. It is a well-established body of expensive private ‘international schools’, institutionally modelled on the 1924-established International School of Geneva, with its initial League of Nations linkages.

This strong irenic sense of mission, is reinforced in practice by its commitment to (still, although the linkage is diminishing over time) deliver in the main an Western-Liberal-Humanistic education underpinned by the programmes of the 1968 Geneva-registered International Baccalaureate, especially its Diploma Programme (IBDP) which the ETISs in the main pioneered and experimented in the 1960s. This commits it to facilitating intercultural understanding, global peace through tolerance and respect, and sustainability of the Planet (and hence giving the ETIS a very strong sense of vision).

At the same time, the ETIS is traditionally serving a largely exclusive expatriate globally mobile clientele (Hayden & Thompson, 2013) comprised largely of the state-backed ‘globalising bureaucrats and politicians’ (working for Embassies, and United Nations agencies), and the more technical ‘globalising professionals’ (working for multinational companies) components of what Sklair (2002, p. 143) more broadly refers to as the ‘Transnational Capitalist Class’ (TNCC). This parental-consumer framework forms the bedrock for imagining the ETIS serving a seemingly cohesive ‘international community’.

Although traditionally largely secular in nature, this community is often traditionally joined by a Missionary (often Christian ethos) clientele, taught in a largely non-selective ability setting. This gives the ETIS an equally strong sense of ‘social legitimacy’, pragmatically serving a temporarily overseas body of expatriate parents who are unable to enter the national schooling arena; in other words, access to the ETIS is not merely financial (monetary) and involves already having access to certain institutions, tastes, and (global) lifestyles.

This aspect presents another dimension, that of the reality, pragmatically serving an (already) privileged transnational clientele, aiding their entry into top global universities and potentially the global labour market. Moreover, access to the ETIS is traditionally pre-ordained by a particular set of rules and logic and is not guided by normal determinants of demand (such as the ability and willingness to pay for it). This is true of other forms of elite schooling, where an image can exist of what sort of child or parent the school might prefer. Gaztambide-Fernández (2009) study revealed that ‘envisionment’ is a key aspect of admissions, and the elite private school had developed a vision of the future ‘perfect’ child/citizen which it projected and moulded. In particular, the ethnographic finding by Gaztambide-Fernández (2009, p. 17) that an elite private school is ‘daunting yet strikingly bucolic, inspiring’ fits well with the ETIS with its emphasis on championing the just and moral (global) citizen.

In fact, many parents who work for Embassies, a key component of the imagined ‘international community’, for example, might get guaranteed access to the ETIS, with no fee. In reality, it is wealth displayed through accumulated cultural capital, and social capital, that gives a parent access to the ETIS, not just your ability to pay the fees (although the external world might not know this, which provides a platform for much misrecognition, and which is why exploring the admission procedure is so important).

Together, the seemingly paradoxical commitment to serving and (re)producing a distinct, privileged transnational ‘class’ within an idealistic and ideologically-driven vision creates in practice a difficult, tense framework of operation. This might be described as the nomos (Bourdieu, 1996): ‘A nomos is a present world constituted by a system of tension between reality and vision’ (Cover, 1983, p. 4). Underlying the nomos is a belief (illusio) that the vision and its underlying values and norms is so important that it must be preserved at all costs, allowing negative actions such as discrimination and biases to occur in practice without questioning (Colley, 2012).

Our paper will explore how the nomos appears and is dealt with at an admissions level of practice, using an ETIS, ‘Utopia’, found in a large city in Japan where there is a typically rapidly changing set of demographic and socio-economic forces.

The growing allure of the ETIS

The ETIS, and the wider arena of private English-speaking international schooling, has hitherto largely escaped critical attention with regard to practices maintaining its elite, exclusive, and idealistic status, such as its admissions procedures. This might equally be true of the well-established arenas of non-English-speaking internationally schooling catering inclusively for expatriates and overseas nationals, such as that serving the Japanese community in Singapore explored in this journal by Toh (2020).

However, the ETIS is often now operating in an increasingly changing demographic landscape where it is not only catering for a growing traditional market, underpinned by the TNCC and the associated agencies of the ‘international community’, but is also increasingly attracting the attention of ambitious and wealthy ‘local’ clients who seek entry as an alternative pathway to the national schooling systems whilst imagining themselves to be ‘different’ from the other locals, as implied by emergent research from Saudi Arabia (Alfaraidy, 2020).

Ball (2010) has directly viewed the changing manifestations of ‘international education’, and the emergent new landscape of international schooling (Ball & Nikita, 2014), as crucial in our better understanding of the identity and development of a ‘global middle class’ (GMC); it is posited that ‘International Schools are social sites in which new kinds of class identity are formed and reproduced’ (Ball & Nikita, 2014, p. 88). Young’s (2018) research in mainland China refers to a new body of local parents, often less economically well off than the established national middle class, seeking entry to international schools as an intentional form of ‘international capital’ accumulation. A study in India (Sancho (2016, p. 478) has described how a new body of parents wants to ‘distinguish themselves from the expanding middle classes.’ Further, a study from Hong Kong (Wright & Lee, 2019), showed how the IBDP provided a potential pathway for local parents gaining entry for their children to a future ‘GMC’ careers and lifestyle. Given the fact that a newer, locally based clientele akin to a ‘GMC’, now seeks, indeed demands and perhaps deserves, access to the ETIS (and in turn, its clientele), the issue of social justice and inequality becomes of academic interest.

Moreover, the ETIS has been directly linked (Bunnell et al., 2020) to the potential formation of a ‘new/modern TNCC’ through its delivery of a curriculum that facilitates the skills, attributes, and dispositions of ‘international mindedness’, appealing to and potentially serving the needs of global capital who seek critical thinking and risk taking yet balanced and inquiring workers. This gives the ETIS an allure of an English-language schooling experience that might help foster advantageous (global) networking and pathways, beyond university and into the (global) labour-market.

The ETIS has an allure, when entered and visited, of being a powerful provider of global inter-connections and dispositions. This is routinely displayed in publicity and marketing material, and through every-day rituals. Further, as an ‘IB World School’ it is portrayed through the regulatory posters and artefacts on all walls inside the school (Barratt Hacking et al., 2018). This strong visual display, arguably a form of symbolic violence (‘the violence which is exercised upon a social agent with his or her complicity’, Bourdieu & Wacquant, 1992, p. 167), might be attractive to many aspiring local parents who want an alternative schooling experience for their child(ren), alongside perhaps achieving a new, distinct status.

Overall, the potential entry into a ‘new world’ is appealing; it has been said in the context of Myanmar that many parents seek ‘the chance to rub shoulders with an international elite’ (Rose, 2017). In this regard, the ‘international community’ is seen as a real construct by some local parents in spite of its informal, unwritten membership.

This subsequent, even inadvertent, emergence of a ‘quasi-market’ fed by new appeals and globalised imaginations, creates the potential need to begin to select (and bar) entrants within a new situation of excess-demand fed by a non-traditional body of parents. As the arena in general was previously largely the exclusive schooling domain of a finite transnational elite, this shift towards serving a newer, alternative, localised infinite clientele is potentially tense and problematic, offering a clash of interests and a potential crisis of legitimacy.

We know that a growing body of parents wants access (although why still requires study), but we know little about the internal processes that allow it to happen or stop it from happening. Our paper deals with this missing aspect of the growth equation; what determines entry to this type of elite schooling, from the school’s perspective? How does the school deal with the complex balancing-act of catering for its traditional base alongside the growing appeal of a localised one?

We will present and discuss the evidence, from ‘Utopia’ in Japan where an emergent GMC or aspiring TNCC might be expected to be found and which is also likely to be Muslim or Buddhist and non-native English speaking. In other words, there are aspiring entrants potentially lacking the necessary cultural capital. This will reveal the gatekeeping practices that help to maintain the (imagined) elite, exclusive, and idealistic nature of the school within a ‘growing new appeal’ paradigm. The topic is then ready to be explored in other settings, such as mainland China where a very diverse set of international schools is emerging.

The relevance of Bourdieu

We will turn to the works of the social philosopher Pierre Bourdieu and his Social Field Theory in an attempt to show, and make more sense of what is going on with the gatekeeping practice employed at ‘Utopia’. Bourdieu is particularly useful for analysing and theorising the inter-relationships between individuals in a society, or a social field such as a school (King, 2000), and his concepts allow us to ‘understand the practical logic of everyday life, to understand relations of power’ (Power, 1999, p. 48).

The term symbolic violence, which first appeared in the 1970s (Bourdieu & Passeron, 1977), is especially useful in a context such as an elite school’s admissions process as it refers to a subtle form of ‘violence’ which is not intentional as such but rather is concealed as a normal condition whereby a person or body might exert power through social status and position (Kupfer, 2015). Additionally, the concept of habitus, central to Bourdieu’s theoretical thinking, is important in analysing the manner in which individuals both freely and naturally behave in every-day life. In other words, habitus displays our every-day habits, thoughts and actions. It reveals much about our past and our background, which is useful in the context of an elite international schooling situation where individuals have different national and cultural histories.

We acknowledge that doubts have been expressed, in discussing elite schooling in a Singapore context (Koh & Kenway, 2012), about how relevant Bourdieu’s concepts are within a non-European context, and where a new middle ‘class’ might be at play. However, Bourdieu has become a popular, viable lens of analysis with regard to international schooling as evidenced recently in this journal when discussing the IB as a field (Dugonjic-Rodwin, 2021). Bourdieu’s works was previously helpful with regard to understanding new class formations (e.g. Resnik, 2018), and structural discrimination and inequalities (e.g. Gardner-McTaggart, 2021). One recent report from Kuwait (Khalil & Kelly, 2020) had found that the choices made by, and within, the international school revealed much symbolic violence.

What will be revealed from our study involves a complex set of tensions based upon maintaining and guarding legitimacy as an ‘international school’; this involves serving the ‘international community’ in the face of a growing appeal to new sets of clienteles. This is set amidst a world of ‘unwritten truths’ (doxa) based upon an idealised and discriminatory form of habitus which only ‘insiders’ i.e. ‘those in the know’ can really replicate and promise (partly because they already exhibit the necessary traits). This is supported by much symbolic violence acting to deter ‘outsiders’ from even applying. Consequently, a field of power dominated by the incumbents of the imaginary ‘international community’ emerges.

Undoing the condition of discrimination is the requirement in order to deal with power relations and inequalities. This is challenging and difficult, in practice, since the participants might have seen the process going on in other similar settings (hence, it is seemingly universal, widespread) and might have seen it occur over many years (hence, it is seemingly historical, natural). Bourdieu tells us that inequalities can be overt, misrecognised, and hidden through processes of ‘dehistoricisation and universalisation’ (Bourdieu & Wacquant, 1992, p. 167).

This is potentially especially problematic in the ETIS setting where the main players are likely to have transitioned among several schools, thus the habitus could even be seen as relatively isomorphic. Moreover, it gives the condition a sense of being a structural, logical, natural order and therefore it is not confronted or dealt with, and thereby perpetuating within and among schools. This has been shown in other contexts, such as the enduring discrimination towards favouring employing teachers from Britain and North America, and the cultural capital traits they possess (Bunnell and Atkinson, 2020).

The context of ‘Utopia’

Studies into elite schooling have shown that the historical and geographical context is important to understand; in the case of Argentina, we know that ‘determinants in the school’s past contribute to its current, and relatively recent, elite status’ (Prosser, 2014, p. 275). ‘Utopia’ is based in Japan, a traditionally strong base for the ETIS, with a long history of serving the TNCC. ISC Research’s database in May 2021 is showing 304 ‘English-medium schools’ in Japan, educating 73,000 children. This placed Japan as having the seventh biggest bloc of schools worldwide (China had the most, with 903, followed by India with 726). That shows a slight drop in world ranking over the past decade, since Brummitt and Keeling (2013 p. 65) had noted that Japan had the fifth biggest bloc of schools in the world. Further, Japan has since 2011 seen a significant increase in the number of schools delivering the IBDP (Sanders & Ishikura, 2018).

However, not all are self-classified as ‘international schools’. The main regional network of ETISs, The Japan Council of International Schools, has just 29 members, including ‘Utopia’. Many, like Utopia are very well established ‘IB World Schools’, over 50 years old; the best known is arguably Yokohama International School, established in 1924 at the same time as the well-known one in Geneva. The American School in Japan (in Yokyo) appeared in 1902. Others, like Utopia, have a Christian-ethos background.

Since the global financial crisis of 2008, Utopia has seen that businesses have been increasingly unwilling to pay the cost of sending families overseas to Japan. A similar trend has been seen among the Embassies, where the preference is now for employing singles or childless couples. As a result, Utopia has been forced to attract more local parents. The increasing attraction of international schools to local parents has been explored (MacKenzie, 2009: in the context of six schools), revealing a desire by some parents for their children to be able to mix with other cultures and have alternative Higher Education pathways. Technically speaking, Japanese children are not allowed to attend Utopia, but it has become a legal grey area. At the same time, more children living in Japan from Korean and Chinese families are attending schools such as Utopia. Thus, in the context of Utopia, ‘local’ partly means ‘regional’.

‘Utopia’, like many other ETISs in Japan and the wider region of East Asia, appeared immediately after the Second World War, and has US military links alongside Christian. It thus describes itself as serving the diverse ‘international community’, with an additional grounding in ‘reverence towards God’. A very strong sense of intended outcomes therefore exists. Utopia explicitly says that it intends to develop a particular type of child with the traits, or dispositions (the IB prefers to use the term ‘attributes’) of the ‘idealised child/citizen/worker’. This fits well with the notion of habitus, a ‘socialised subjectivity’ (Bourdieu & Wacquant, 1992, p. 126) that traditionally has underpinned the arena of the ETIS; the students are encouraged and expected to develop critical thinking skills, and show risk-taking. Immediately, we can see that this habitus is more easily displayed by agents with a ‘Western-Global North’ background, putting ‘locals’ in an East Asian/Japan setting at a (structural) disadvantage.

Utopia, like most ETISs, is a ‘through-school’ with three distinct sections (Kindergarten, primary, and secondary/High School). Also, Utopia, like most ETISs, is very expensive (in relative terms), with yearly fees averaging almost GBP20,000 excluding lunch, bus, or other extraneous costs. In this regard, Utopia is only a viable possible avenue of alternative private schooling for perhaps a minority of the local community, or for maybe one of their offspring. The high cost of entering the school is always going to be a key ‘guarder of the gate’ irrespective of any changes to the admissions policies.

In spite of the cost, Utopia has witnessed substantial changing demographics. Many applicants now come from Islamic nations such as Indonesia, or Pakistan. Many Muslim families seek access to Utopia, and appreciate the opportunity to meet and work with people of other Faiths – something not always possible in their home countries. During the interviews, we noticed an awareness by the school leadership that the changing demographics may have impacted public perceptions of what type of school EITS was. However, it was strongly felt that imposing any admissions quota based on nationality was unethical and problematic. There was strong agreement that this was not morally the way to deal with the issue and that what was needed was better communication to the surrounding community about the suitability (or not) of the school. A belief was held that the influx of ‘locals’ was negatively impacting the desirability of the school among the traditional ‘international community’ base who had been known on visits to comment negatively on the amount of ‘non-English’ they heard students speaking in the hallways. Utopia had added signs stating ‘Please Speak English on Campus’, but was fully aware that imposing such a restriction was problematic and may not align with best practices or ethical considerations. However, as of our writing this paper, those signs remain on display.

Overall, Utopia is arguably an archetypical ETIS within the shifting landscape: it possesses strong ‘Traditional’ (Hayden & Thompson, 2013) characteristics yet also is now inheriting and incorporating the ‘Non-Traditional’ (Hayden & Thompson, 2013) elements that characterise activity across Asia in general (a growing appeal to locally-based aspiring, middle-class families, with a non-English and sometimes non-Christian background). In short, the setting is conducive to experiencing the tensions between being exclusive (and serving a traditional clientele that traditionally has been relatively homogenous and non-rivalry), and appearing to be inclusive (and being pressured into serving an emergent local clientele that now seeks admission). Such an environment is challenging for the school, adding considerably complexity to admission procedures.

At the centre of the admissions tensions for Utopia lies the complexity of its changing nomos, a by-product of the demographic and socio-economic changes that all ETISs in East Asia is likely facing. The emergent nomos involves a major, and very real, tension in practice since Utopia is increasingly being placed under market-led pressures to allow more local parents access to the school yet at the same time still cater for its dwindling traditional base (reflecting the reality, one of trying to maintain demand, and deal with subsequent new demands). At the same time, it must also be seen to be adhering to an IB-driven ideology coupled with a faith-driven mission of inclusivity and social justice (reflecting the strong idealistic vision). This tension can be identified at an admissions level, where Utopia is under pressure from the local market to gain entry yet stay loyal to its established traditional market, as well as maintain its ideological and religious roots. Moreover, the entry of more local children could hinder the school’s claim to be a legitimate form of institution both in the eyes of the imaginary ‘international community’ whom it traditionally serves. In this context, Utopia has a major dilemma that needs exploring; how can it meet the changing needs and aspirations of the local population, yet still maintain a sense of social legitimacy?

Methods

We employed two primary methods of unearthing information: document analysis and interviews. Ethical approval was obtained by the University of Bath, and the study adhered to the BERA Ethical Guidelines. Utopia’s admissions policy and related paperwork offer evidence of the normative beliefs and practices the school espouses and seeks to replicate via admissions practice. Here we might expect to identify symbolic violence. Additional documents drawn from accreditation reports and the school website are examined as they reveal the choices the school makes in creating membership boundaries at the phenomenological level. This document analysis establishes the framework and values within the admission policy while simultaneously supporting, via the interview process, a process of uncovering the level of congruence between policy and practice. Here we find that the school exercises enormous power in deciding who gets access, and with no recourse for failed applicants.

A study of admissions practices and policy in an elite schooling setting should also involve the study of the admissions personnel (as agents) and their sense-making judgements, many of which will be subjective, un-written, and internalised. This will help to reveal the dominant habitus, and the wider field of practice which is made up of expectations and behaviours (Bourdieu, 1977, p. 198). This practice, which is both universal and historical, can be used to both protect the school, and aid the production or re-production of social advantage whereby a new (imagined) self is produced.

Hence, all those at Utopia with responsibility for admissions were interviewed. As noted, Utopia as a K-12 school has three sections hence the three Section Leaders (SLs) were interviewed. The HoS reported that she completely trusted the three SLs and as such sees herself as a ‘rubber stamp’ on their admission recommendations.

The SLs have been at the school between 15–40 years, and the longevity of their roles suggests a strong commitment to the values, actions and lifestyle of the school (or the city/region, or Japan).They had been at the school long enough to care for its present, and future i.e. they probably deeply care for its ongoing sense of legitimacy, whilst also possessing strong views and images about the type of child the school needs and fits i.e. they have built up a strong image of the preferred, idealised habitus.

The SLs were given the research questions at least a week prior with the explicit intent they develop considered answers. While such a practice may permit interviewees to construct responses, it also permits them an opportunity to reflect upon their practice in conjunction with school policy thus enabling potential for richer narratives to emerge (p. 275). Secondly, all had positions had considerable time demands; therefore, specific questions enabled them to develop considered responses.

The aim of the interviews was to get a feel for ‘the rules of the game’. At the centre of this ‘game’ is doxa,the ‘unwritten truths’ that exist in society that can either grant or block access (Bourdieu, 1984, p. 250). Decoding and understanding these doxa is vital and herein lies the power of ‘gatekeepers’ who can grant access via education to the field, its status and positional dominance. Unlike Marxism, which assumes the necessity of violent class struggle vis-à-vis access to rare goods, Bourdieu contends most struggles take place at a symbolic level – words and discourses mediate access to the field and its rare-goods (Bourdieu, 1984, p. 249).The SLs, as the key ‘gatekeepers’ therefore not only are guardians to the field and its rare goods but are also active participants in constructing and empowering membership.

In other words, we might expect to find that the SLs act both as ‘gatekeepers’ and ‘guardians’, deliberately yet discretely deciding who should be given access to the school. As already alluded to, being ‘wealthy’ or ‘aspiring’ is not enough; the applicants to Utopia need to know and abide by the (often unwritten)rules of the game. Those ‘in the know’, such as alumni or parents who have moved from another ETIS will likely possess much knowledge about the rules and thus are at a considerable advantage. In particular, they likely exhibit the necessary habitus and cultural capital traits of the ‘international community’, thereby forming a platform for discrete discrimination.

The documentational evidence

The role of symbolic violence

Beginning with the documentation evidence, we can identify a number of ‘unwritten truths’ at play, underpinned by a powerful form of symbolic power/violence. The documents contain many clauses where the SLs can ‘guard the gate’. Both the website and the application package contain information highlighting the school’s philosophy, objectives, and the overviews of each of the three sections. There is an application administration fee of about GBP200, showing that the initial entry process is not deliberately barred at a financial level. The package also includes an application for admission, confidential counsellor recommendation form, yearly calendar, fees list and bus schedule. Four criteria for admissions are explicitly stated:

1. Children of expatriate families who are moving to the host-nation.

2. Children of bicultural families where at least one parent is a native English speaker.

3. Children who are fluent in English and speak English at home.

4. Native students who have spent at least three years abroad in an English-speaking school system without English as an Additional (EAL) support.

This immediately reveals the strong emphasis on English-language proficiency (which many locals do not possess), a major feature in practice of the ETIS. It is expected that the child will either be a native speaker (as implied by criterion 1 and 3) or will have a family background where English is widely spoken (criterion 2). Alternatively, they must have a family background where they have moved from an English-speaking nation (criterion 4).

Here the school exhibits much symbolic power. In this instance, it is subconsciously admitted that proficiency in the English-language is a stronger base for entry to the school than the local language, which will probably deter many applicants at the very first stages of the admissions procedure.

Further, both the school website and admission literature offer the statement that children of Embassies receive preferential consideration, a point reinforced during our interviews when both the HoS and all three SLs made similar overtures that Embassy children receive special consideration, naturally, even if they could not always pay the fees. As one SL stated to us: ‘We have a history with Embassies and we must (always) preserve their trust in us and honour that relationship’. Here, we have the essence of symbolic violence in practice; it is universal (always happens) and is historical (always has happened). Thus, it is a taken-for-granted form of discrimination towards parents with Embassy backgrounds. Overall, the admission policy implies that ‘local’ children are not wanted, unless they possess a reasonable level of English. Second, the policy implies that children of expats who have moved from an English-speaking nation are more preferable.

Symbolic violence is similar to the Marxist idea of ‘false consciousness’, whereby people internalise the discourses of the dominant, meaning that ‘the most intolerable conditions of existence can so often be perceived as acceptable and even natural’ (Emirbayer & Johnson, 2008, p. 46). Here, inequalities in our social world are supported by agents and players believing it as justified or pre-ordained, a form of fatalism (Jost, 1995). The ‘local’ parents may consciously think, ‘why bother to try to enter this school when we are clearly ineligible?’

The role of doxa

Further, it is not made clear in the documentation how many of the four criteria (listed above) are necessary for admission nor if they are in any rank order. Utopia does admit students with Special Educational Needs so long as they are at ‘grade level’ in reading comprehension, writing, and mathematics as determined by the placement test and the student’s standardised ‘test score’. All three SLs said this limitation was due to Utopia’s inability to cover the cost and provide the necessary support. Additionally, Utopia was inaccessible to students who may have mobility/disability issues as it has no elevator, but multiple staircases. There are a ‘limited number of EAL spaces’ although no specific number is given. In bold lettering on both the website and the official documentation is the following concluding statement:

‘The Head of School reserves the right to reject any application for admission based on space availability and the degree to which Utopia’s educational programme can meet the identified needs of the applicant.’

Here, we have the beginnings of a direct, forceful message that not only proffers more symbolic violence but is also discrete enough to offer scope for considerable ‘misrecognition’ (i.e. doxa). The HoS can turn down an applicant who has a poor level of English, or needs EAL support, on the grounds that the school is ‘full’ or the HoS feels the needs of the child cannot be met. However, neither of these conditions can be proven, and are totally subjective.

Further, the application process entails (in written English only, which in itself acts as a test for parents to pass) the following: complete the given forms in full; submission of school records for the last three years; a completed counsellor recommendation from current school (interestingly, not all local schools will provide this); payment of the application fee; placement tests; and an interview with the appropriate SL.

This listing in itself shows the degree to which Utopia can make judgements without the applicants knowing the actual reasons. The school’s records, recommendation, and placement test are all prone to potential ‘misrecognition’. For instance, the school can advise a parent that their child does not match the academic benchmarks, yet these are not articulated or written down.

The Counsellor Recommendation must come from a school counsellor or HoS/Principal, and is Confidential. Using a Likert Scale, the applicant is rated from ‘Truly Outstanding’ to ‘No Basis for judgment’ on 20 categories. There are 10 questions to do with academic qualities, and 10 to do with personal attributes such as honesty and leadership ability. The academic assessment criteria precede the personal ones, even though Utopia, like most ETISs, describes itself as ‘academically non-selective’.

Applicants are not obliged to provide a statement discussing personal qualities, academic abilities or reasons for seeking admissions. At the same time, applicants do not receive details regarding student body composition, language, assessment or conduct policies. Thus, they are totally unable to know if their child fits the school profile, as that decision is made by the SL.

Although the HoS is not actively involved in the candidate interview process, they do retain the final right of acceptance. All three SLs stated that they often consult with the HoS in making admissions decisions. The HoS thus maintains informal yet meaningful influence in the admissions process. This is a considerable ‘unwritten truth’, since the applicants will believe that the SLs have the full power. The HoS here acts as a back-up ‘gatekeeper’, a sort of ‘gatekeeper of last resorts’. One imagines that this occurs in other elite school settings, especially where there is a proprietor or Chief Executive.

The interview processes

Next, we turn to the parental interview process in more detail. We find here that habitus (Bourdieu, 2002) acts as a major gatekeeper, and there appears to be an ‘unwritten’ image of the potential ‘Utopian’, possessing certain traits and characteristics required for entry. Again, this is not made explicit to ‘outsiders’ and is subjectively judged by the SLs. Utopia’s mission and philosophy are evident to all applicants yet is suitably vague as to defy clear articulation. Here, the ‘rules of the game’ are not explicit, or made clear, since there is an expectation or assumption (a logic) that the applicants will know what they are i.e. if you need to ask ‘What is an international school?’ or ‘What is international mindedness?’ or ‘What is an IB Learner?’, you are most likely not suitable.

Utopia expects the child (and the parents) to display certain skills (multi-lingual, and English-language proficiency), dispositions (character, manner, conduct, and ‘taste’) and attributes (open-mindedness, respect, responsibility, and tolerance), both as a Christian (Catholic)-ethos school, and an IB World School. The SLs stated to us that the applicants must share a ‘common purpose’ and display the equally vague yet highly important attributes of ‘international mindedness’. In other words, the SLs hold an image of the ‘ideal/perfect child’.

However, no clear articulation of what this image is exists (neither verbally or written), nor is it openly evident or discussed how this habitus informs acceptance decisions. Further, even if the applicants did have an inkling of what was expected (this needs further study), it might involve the display of attributes that are not culturally the norm or culturally acceptable. This might occur, for example, in the display of ‘risk-taking’, a core element of the IB Learner Profile, but which in the context of Utopia (in Japan) might be seen as less normal for locals to display. In other words, the imposition of an expected habitus might involve ‘symbolic violence’ in the sense that it will necessitate a complicit yet problematic change in character and manner. As noted already, this expected display change in character might have been discretely conveyed to the locals visiting the school, and viewing the discourse and images displayed on the walls.

Put simply, the habitus acts in practice as a powerful and pragmatic way of siphoning the applicants. Those who display, or are prepared to display, the necessary traits are most likely to get admitted. In this context, the ‘locals’ are at a clear disadvantage since they most probably lack the inter-cultural awareness that those in the globally-mobile expatriate ‘international community’ will exhibit, and even if they did, they might be less inclined to display it. In this way, habitus is constantly imitated and re-produced (Bourdieu calls this process memesis).

The flip-side of this issue is that ‘insiders’ have a distinct advantage, since they can more easily display the accumulated social and cultural capital that the school seeks. We discovered that along with Embassy staff, applicants from alumni are also always successful in entering Utopia, as they know ‘who we are, and what we do’ (the actual words of one SL). Again, we can here see more doxa at work. Further, the alumni can be trusted to communicate effectively in English which underlies a consistent benchmark for admission to Utopia: English-language ability and proficiency.

The access (open gate) automatically granted to alumni was evident when one SL stated with pride that: ‘we always take in the children of alumni, it is part of our tradition.’ The interview for such candidates is just a rubber stamp, and the SLs sometimes do not even need to conduct the interview. When questioned further on this blatant inequality, it was stated emphatically that: ‘it has always been done that way – we are a family’ (offering a discrete reference to the imaginary bond of the ‘international community’).

A number of the Embassy’s, especially those representing developing nation-states, receive reduced fees and in some cases full scholarships. Children from Embassies will share common characteristics such as international mobility, status and membership in a diplomatic class i.e. they are likely to possess the attributes and dispositions of ‘international mindedness’ through lifestyle, family-life, and taste.

The parental interviews in the Kindergarten section is accompanied by observation of the child in the classroom setting. The SL and the year-level teacher will both observe the applicant’s child interacting with their peers. It is assumed that this procedure has a focus on communication (verbally and kinaesthetically) and independence (e.g. ability to use the toilet). Aside from also discreetly looking at evidence of intercultural habitus it is likely that the SLs here are further observing the bodily hexis (Bourdieu, 1984, p. 437), the physical traits (speech, dress, manners, and body language) that are not habit, but socially shaped (Roodenburg, 2004).

Parents also observe the Kindergarten classes to help them understand the process and approach to learning. Afterwards, parents and the Kindergarten SL meet and discuss their observations in a specifically designated ‘Meeting Room’. The other two SLs hold their interviews in the schools ‘Visitors Room’, and class observation and interaction are not the norm. This shift in power (Aléx & Hammarström, 2008), from public classroom to private room arguably enables the SL to retain the upper-hand during the interview.

Conclusions

The field of the ‘international community’

We know that elite schools in general are well-positioned to choose the child they want to admit. One study, for example, in Singapore showed that ‘numerous admission preferences, while initially intended to strengthen family-school ties, rewards those with resources, furthering the perception and reality of economic inequality’ (Debs & Cheung, 2020, p. 1). That study argued a form of structure-reinforced inequality persists in Singapore, and the reference to ‘preferences’ implies that the school chooses the child, ultimately.

With regard to the ETIS, we can also place the ‘international community’ as a central component of this structure, reinforcing inequality. We can see from our study that membership of the ‘international community’ is preferred, and is almost an automatic prerequisite for access to our school, Utopia. Going back to the opening quote (Howard et al., 2020, p. 564) we now find that the ETIS deliberately and discretely adopts a strategy where it:

‘keeps their international community closed to the outside world, promotes shared values within their international community, and remains faithful to founding principles in their educational project.’

Although largely imaginary, and with no legal framework, membership of the ‘international community’ conveys an image of having the prerequisite cultural and social capital to guarantee access (we might posit that the concept of the ‘global citizen’ adds this mix). This power relation seems to be taken almost as ‘law’, a definite form of doxa (Eagleton & Bourdieu, 1992). However, we clearly need more research into how this structure and relation operates, both in East Asia and beyond, as a field of power. Paradoxically, whilst the nation-state conveys an image of an ‘imagined community’ (Anderson, 1983), we find that the ‘international-state’ has a similar imagery.

We find that the ETIS has a strong sense of belonging and ownership. In the case of the ETIS, there is the added layer of being part of the ‘IB World’, which together with being part of the ‘international school movement’ (a term often used, internally) gives the school a strong sense of vision, loyalty, and social legitimacy. The school believes itself as being part of, and serving, a wider family, embodied in serving the imaginary ‘international community’ and its incumbents, and this can be seen as the essential form of illusio. Here, the ETIS acts within its own set of rules, or logic, opening the gates to only those parents who it is assumed can facilitate its vision and can appear to be legitimate partners. Here, the nomos becomes ‘a social arena relatively independent from the broader social environment, characterized by its own logic and shared assumptions’ (Albert & Kleinman, 2011, p. 263).

Further, the admissions process is both ambiguous and fluid. The flexibility, as well as the lack of recourse, help to constantly re-position the school towards serving its ‘traditional’ clientele. As Bourdieu (1977) notes, membership is both restrictive and flexible allowing for continuation wherein viable contradictions offer ethical and powerful epistemic choices to re-vision and re-focus membership.

This seems legitimate, and is thus rarely questioned. At one time, the ability to pay substantial fees might have blocked entry to the locally-based population (although this is arguably less true of industrialised Japan, and maybe more applicable to other contexts in East Asia such as China, or Vietnam) but the increased wealth of the local population has meant that Utopia is now a school of choice for many local families. Hence, the school has had to invent new ways (or, logic) of dealing with the admissions process, in order to ‘guard/protect the gate’ (we should say here that some of the policies were not ‘new’ as such but had not hitherto been written down and had been applied reasonably haphazardly, as a form of ‘unwritten rules’ i.e. they had become more explicit as a result of demographic pressures).

This process of ‘constant rules changing without recourse’ helps us understand the way that an elite school can re-articulate privilege over time; as the clientele changes, the school will also change (or reinforce) its admissions process, creating new barriers to entry based upon the traits, dispositions and character of the applicants. Utopia has shifted its stance on local parents, in line with the policy of the local government who are willing to permit some locals to attend an ETIS, especially if the children have lived overseas or have one parent who is a foreigner. In other words, some locals are deemed more desirable than others especially if they fit the profile of the ‘international community’ (this topic requires further empirical study). It always becomes the case that the applicant must fit the school, not the school fit the applicant; the school always remains very much in control of entry.

The reproduction of ‘elite’

We have begun to identify the ‘benchmarks’ for entry. Habitus is strongly identifiable. The school has both a religious habitus, and an ideological one aligned with the traits, attributes, skills and dispositions associated with ‘international mindedness’. This is a powerful combination, yet vague enough to be discriminatory. It is a common feature of elite schooling in general; as Fahey and Prosser (2015, p. 1033) have noted: ‘elite schools around the world aspire to produce perfect students.’

Further, we can observe that cultural capital and habitus, combined, are a powerful structure, as argued by Edgerton and Roberts (2014). Possessing the necessary distinctions are required for definite admission, yet they are so complex that it is almost impossible for any applicant to fully fit the requested picture unless they inherit them from the family background i.e. being alumni or Embassy personnel helps greatly as they hold both the necessary cultural capital and habitus, and we can see in our study how entry to Utopia is almost automatic for this sub-grouping of the ‘international community’. In this situation, being elite means that you belong to a small, distinct grouping that display the habitus that the school instinctively wants to cater for, and attract. It is much more subtle that being ‘wealthy’ or ‘powerful’; this helps to deal with problematizing the ‘obstinate issue’ of ‘what does it mean to be elite?’ as argued for by Howard and Kenway (2015).

Utopia is clearly dealing with a complex set of threats to its legitimacy. The changing demographics has witnessed a growth in its local and developing country numbers resulting in an increased need for English-language services, and financial support. Nonetheless, this is arguably a shift in type, not in kind as students predominantly still require specific social and cultural capital to attend. For example, Embassy students will be admitted regardless of their financial or language capability. Such benchmarks limit the chances for applicants without the required capital(s), and is further underpinned by the automatic admission of children of alumni. This implies a process of discrete favouritism exists, in practice, as Utopia attempts to maintain its image as an English-speaking ‘International School’, essential for ensuring social legitimacy.

The ‘fragile legitimacy’ tension

Elite schools in general face complex tensions at an admissions level. For example, it has been shown (Erichsen & Waldow, 2020) how elite schools in general have an inherent tension emerging due to shifts in parental appeal. On the one hand, they have to at least try to show that parents are admitted to the school based on some sort of merit, providing a form of social legitimacy, whilst at the same time they are attracting parents who want the (imagined) competitive advantages (socially, culturally) of an elite schooling. A similar fragile legitimacy tension arises at Utopia between the ‘old’ and ‘new’ sets of parents; Utopia attracts parents with wealth, the emergent GMC, but it aspires to continue to appeal and cater for those who can continuously give the school legitimacy, the already privileged ‘international community’. In the case of some elite private schools, this fragility becomes a problem due to its charity-status, which means it cannot just admit those who have power and prestige (or lots of money). That would devalue its legitimacy and might even threaten its very survival. In the case of Utopia, its legitimacy depends on it being seen to cater for, and serve, the ‘international community’. To veer too much towards serving the ‘locals’, away from the Embassies, will substantially devalue the ‘international’ aspect, and might pose a long-term threat to its very existence. In this context, the gatekeeping practices are deeply structural; the SLs are not only guarding the school, they are protecting its survival.

Final thoughts

We can see that Bourdieu’s works provide both a Logic (Bourdieu, 1990) and Theory of Practice (Bourdieu, 1977) from which the expectations and delineations developed by Utopia become penetrable. Rather than presenting a static and ultimately unrealistic exploration of the school’s admission policy, Bourdieu’s work permits prospecting and extraction of information and events that may have been too interwoven to navigate via traditional empirically grounded models. For instance, Utopia defends much of its exclusivity by arguing that it seeks to prepare students for attending foreign (Western) universities and therefore, ‘locals’ may be better served by attending a local school focused on developing students for National universities. This offers a good example of doxa, and discrete discrimination through misrecognition; it seems a valid, natural response, and is thus rarely questioned. It is an ‘unwritten truth’.

Overall, we find that Utopia is operating in a complex climate where it is trying to defend, not just guard, its Christian-identity, and its international-identity (both of which help give it ‘social legitimacy’, an identity potentially essential for survival) in the face of a rapidly changing, almost threatening, demographic environment. Like many ETISs, Utopia finds itself becoming increasingly attractive to a local clientele, seeking advantage for the child and maybe themselves, another feature perhaps of the ‘GMC’, and an issue worthy in itself of much more investigation. In particular, empirical research inquiry is required into how and in what ways local parents perceive the ‘international community’ to be. What do they think it is, and can offer them?

Yet, this growing attraction brings along issues for the school of children with poor levels of English, disabilities and learning challenges, and possible divisions and tensions among the school community which traditionally has been ‘Western’ and English-speaking. Further, the school also increasingly attracts non-Christian parents, and this creates another tension between the school as a tolerant, open-minded Christian-ethos institution, and admitting applicants who may not fit this profile.

Finally, our study would benefit from further inquiry. We need to revisit the topic, by seeking clarity about whether the SLs (at ‘Utopia’ and elsewhere across East Asia) are aware of the external pressures coming from a ‘new’ set of parents, and in what ways this is directly affecting admissions practices. We have already highlighted the central role of the ‘international community’, and we need to learn more about its power and structure both as a vision and a reality. Further, it would be useful to know more about the actual conduct of the parental interview. For example, do the parents get asked about the family’s travels or pastimes? Such questioning would prove that the SLs seek to identify whether the applicants are ‘internationally-minded’. Second, does the child itself get asked about current affairs, testing his or her knowledge of politics? Such an insight would reveal more about the subtlety of the ‘gatekeeping’. The subsequent probing and questioning by the SLs at an interview offer a form of symbolic violence; it is a manifestation of the individual’s judgment of how they should commonly behave forming the accepted, indeed acceptable, habitus. Those with responsibility to ‘guard/protect the gate’ may feel they should be assertive and inquisitive, to prove their legitimacy and worth, whilst the parents (and teachers) might think it an acceptable and natural reflection of the social order.

A study investigating the role of socially structured body-language (‘bodily hexis’) in the admissions process would be illuminating. Lastly, a study of admissions in a Mainland China context, the current epicentre of international schooling, could add much to our study. This topic warrants further investigation, and amongst other forms of English-speaking international schooling, such as the ‘non-traditional’ types that have emerged in China over the past decade (Poole, 2020).

The enduring bias within the arena of elite international schooling both towards some players (here, the already privileged Embassies, and alumni, with substantial social and cultural capital), and against others (here, locals who do not possess the necessary cultural capital) needs discussing, theorising, and bringing out into the open; Bourdieu calls for a challenge (resistance) of the ‘acceptance of commonplaces’ (Bourdieu, 1998, p. 8).

Disclosure statement

No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author(s).

Additional information

Notes on contributors

Tristan Bunnell

Tristan Bunnell is a Lecturer in International Education at the University of Bath.

James Hatch

James Hatch is an independent researcher in Tokyo, Japan, and obtained his Doctorate from the University of Bath in 2017.