From Rock Beats to Social Change: Flying Professor meets Social Entrepreneurship

I still remember the moment the word "social entrepreneurship" first resonated within me—not merely as an academic construct, but as something closer to a summons, a quiet imperative that would reshape the arc of my professional life.

It was the waning years of the twentieth century, an era when Japan had only begun to articulate, tentatively and in hushed tones, the emerging vocabulary of social enterprise. The notion that commerce might serve as an instrument of collective good—transcending the singular pursuit of profit—struck many as quixotic, perhaps even subversive. Yet for me, it was not abstract theory that kindled this awakening. It was music.

One unremarkable evening, while absorbed in NHK's Changemaker series, I encountered a figure whose life had traversed the chasm between global rock stages and grassroots transformation: Robert Stephenson, the legendary producer behind U2, now channeling his creative energy into a youth-empowerment initiative called Blastbeat. I was not alone in my fascination—my seminar students, typically restless and guarded, leaned forward with an intensity I had rarely witnessed.

In Okinawa, where music courses through the cultural bloodstream of youth, and where far too many young people drift through conventional work structures without anchor or aspiration, Blastbeat seemed to offer something precious: a spark capable of ignition.

Blastbeat defied simple categorization. It was, in essence, a social entrepreneurship incubator masquerading as a rock concert. Students established mock enterprises, orchestrated live events, and cultivated leadership—with authenticity at its core. They were not merely selling tickets; they were constructing confidence, forging community, and discovering a sense of purpose that had long eluded them.

I immersed myself more deeply. I journeyed to the 2008 Skoll World Forum at Oxford University, that global convocation of social entrepreneurs. The atmosphere crackled with possibility—changemakers from every latitude, each bearing a narrative, a solution, a vision yet unrealized. I found myself wishing I could somehow capture that rarefied air and release it across Japan, across Okinawa. I yearned for our youth to inhale its potential.

Upon my return, I developed a career development proposal with Blastbeat as its cornerstone. The evaluators responded with genuine enthusiasm. The prospect of employing music as a pedagogical vehicle for leadership and social impact struck a chord. It was not simply innovative—it possessed a vitality that transcended conventional programming.

And so I reached across the distance. I composed an email to Robert Stephenson directly, half-expecting silence. To my astonishment, he replied. We convened in London, exchanging not just ideas but aspirations. Around that same time, Mr. Matsuura was beginning to contemplate introducing Blastbeat to Japan. When we met in Tokyo, our rapport was immediate and profound. That conversation became the foundation of our collaboration to champion the program throughout the country.

In 2009, I facilitated a dialogue with Stephenson himself. In 2010, Matsuura traveled to Okinawa to speak with our students. And then, in 2011, something transcendent occurred: my students formed a band they christened Ryukyu Gakudan Otoguru. They staged a live performance—not in pursuit of profit, but of purpose. Rather than collecting ticket revenue, they gathered donations of cup noodles, which they contributed to Second Harvest Okinawa, itself a food bank operating as a social enterprise.

That moment—students channeling music into acts of compassion—represented the culmination of everything I had envisioned. Blastbeat had transcended its program boundaries. It had become a movement, offering young people a platform to perform not merely songs, but gestures of generosity, courage, and transformation.

Though Blastbeat has yet to take firm root in Okinawa, its ethos continues to proliferate nationwide from its nonprofit headquarters in Tokyo—scattering seeds of change across the archipelago.

Today, Blastbeat endures as a wellspring of inspiration. Its impact—confidence nurtured, inclusion practiced, the conviction that "I am capable"—reverberates through classrooms and communities alike. Robert Stephenson now envisions extending the program to address poverty in the Philippines. I harbor no doubt that this vision will find its realization.

As for me, the Flying Professor, I have come to understand social entrepreneurship not as a fixed destination, but as an ongoing pilgrimage—one that weaves melody with meaning, and transforms classrooms into launching grounds for hope.

The music, it seems, has only just begun.