Seating systems in elementary schools across five countries. Actually, they were all different.

The 'Active Learning: What About This?' Research Institute launched at DENTSU SOKEN INC. We plan to propose ideas about active learning from various angles. This column will introduce methods, concepts, and individuals that could be useful for making learning more active.

Elementary school seating. What layout did you have? I had always assumed it was standard for everyone to sit facing the blackboard and the teacher standing in front of it. That assumption was shattered at age eight. In an English elementary school.

Since then, I've encountered many different seating systems in various countries. Boy-girl pairs, individual seats, groups of five or six around a table, desks arranged in a circle facing each other, different furniture used for different subjects... It was like a game where the rules changed every time I transferred schools, and it was fascinating.

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In Russian elementary schools, boys and girls sit together in pairs at long desks. Boys on the left, girls on the right. Left-handed students sit together as a pair. Seating rarely changes; it's entirely possible to keep the same seat and partner for ten years. In these mixed-gender pair seating arrangements, children's concentration during class seems to improve. This is because elementary school boys and girls rarely become friends, leading to less chatter during lessons and more attentive listening to the teacher.

Furthermore, deliberately seating a mischievous boy next to a studious girl enhances this effect. The responsible, capable girl often naturally takes on the role of looking after the boy, which seems to improve his academic potential.

Everyone sat facing the teacher at the front of the classroom, listened to the lesson, and raised their hand to answer when called on. Getting the right answer led to a sense of personal superiority, and every day felt like a battle. I thought this was just the way things were.

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On the day I transferred to a primary school in Cambridge, England, in third grade, the classroom contained only a few large tables, as if for eating meals. Huh, this must be the dining room. In Russia, breakfast is served at school, so it made sense they sent us there first thing.

But there was no sign of food. Instead, we sat around tables in groups of five or six and started the lesson. Then, after a while, even though it was class time, everyone started chatting happily. "Huh? We're allowed to talk?" Before I could process the situation, the girl next to me spoke up.

"We're working on this math problem together right now, but we're split on the answer. What did you get?" Then, everyone checked their work, chose one answer, and each table presented it to the teacher.

This approach continued in other subjects. Just as the girl had helped me, if someone struggled with a subject, someone else would teach them. I saw it then: this wasn't a solo battle. For someone like me, who had always lived in a competitive world, it felt incredibly fresh. Every subject had a child who shone. "Ask ○○ for this subject!" became the learning mindset.

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My next transfer was to an elementary school in Paris, France. Here, the large tables were gone. Instead, everyone's desks were arranged in a circle. When class started, the children sat facing each other, and the teacher stood inside the circle, moving to each child as needed.

This seating arrangement constantly put the children at the center. The teacher would pose questions to everyone, and they would engage in lively discussions. It was like a miniature United Nations, with each child expressing opinions based on their own background. Since not speaking up would make their presence meaningless, everyone argued passionately.

"Oh, I see, so there's that perspective too," "Why do you think that?" These exchanges became opportunities to understand each other. Often, by asking their parents for their opinions at home, they would gain a fresh perspective on their own position within their world.

Religion, language, ideologies, values, national character – all sorts of things came into sharp relief. The teacher acted as a kind of facilitator, rarely declaring something right or wrong except for math problems and grammar. So, there are many things without a single correct answer. That was new to me.

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In fourth grade, I transferred to an elementary school in Tokyo, Japan. Here, they had a seating system similar to Russia's: individual seats, but two were pushed together, so you technically had a neighbor.

In this setup, everyone faced forward, and conversations were primarily with the teacher, not the person next to you. Like in Russia, the teaching method was the teacher lecturing, students thinking, and then students giving their answers to the teacher.

The difference, however, was the frequent use of majority voting. Having been steeped in debate, this felt very lukewarm to me. Even if someone had a really great idea, it might not get chosen. Instead, something safe and uncontroversial, decided by everyone together, would be selected, and everyone seemed satisfied with it.

Here, "what everyone chose" mattered more than "what was good." This approach prevented dissatisfaction, and everyone tackled the decisions positively. So, deciding together actually affects motivation afterward. I thought this method was genuinely interesting.

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In fifth grade, I transferred to an elementary school in Wisconsin, USA. "Oh, they sit in circles again!" I thought, but there was a rug in the center with several sofas placed on it. It looked just like a living room. And a bit further away, there was one large table.

Here, they changed seating arrangements based on the purpose. For individual work or group discussions, everyone sat in their assigned seats around the circle. During Japanese language class storytime, relaxing on the central sofas helped the stories sink in better. Even small announcements or decisions made on the sofas fostered a sense of unity. For math class, they used the larger table. Once a student solved a problem, they went to the table to have the teacher check it individually. This allowed problems to be adjusted based on ability.

By changing seating arrangements, we shift our approach to learning. Rather than viewing the teacher as an authority figure, it feels more like a distant relative.

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The seemingly arbitrary seating arrangement actually reflects teaching philosophy. Do you want them to listen intently? Encourage participation? Collaborate on ideas? There's no single right answer.

It's fascinating to consider: Would Japanese children become more vocal if seated in the French style? Would Russian children, raised in individualism, develop teamwork if seated in the British style?

Shifting seating arrangements based on children's personalities and teaching objectives could also teach them that there are many approaches, potentially benefiting their future.