Japan's Cultural Code Words: Key Terms That Explain the Attitudes and Behavior of the Japanese

Introduction

Born in 1928 in what is still a small Missouri town, Boyé Lafayette de Mente found himself in Tokyo at the age of twenty, where he served in the United States Navy during the Korean War. He stayed on, and started a career as a journalist and writer, ultimately authoring well over a hundred books, most of them about Asian culture.

When I landed in Tokyo twenty years ago, I felt much as he must have felt back then—like I was visiting an alien planet, a world as fascinating as it was bewildering. It was my first contact with an Asian culture, and I knew immediately that I had much to learn, and would have, for a long time to come.

One of the first books I read to help me navigate this new culture was de Mente’s Japan’s Cultural Codewords, and I credit this book with awakening my interest in exploring and really understanding the personality and character of Japan.

Two recurring themes stood out for me. The first of them is keywords—the unique, often untranslatable words in any given language that serve as portals to understanding the mindset of a people. I share de Mente’s belief that one of the foundations for understanding a culture is through the language of the place, and it is especially by learning its cultural and emotional vocabulary that we gain access to the heart, feelings, and attitudes of its people.

Wherever you go, learning something about the language and customs of a place is one of the best ways to show respect to its people. The very effort can gain you friends and, at very least, spark interesting conversations. One of my favorite ways to converse with Japanese people I’ve just met is to ask them to define untranslatable words, idioms, or popular proverbs, such as: wabi-sabi (page 245, nihonteki section), honne and tatemae (page 353, tesaki section), hansei (page 103), isshokenmei (page 128), ippo machigau to (page 124). Each explanation I receive is somewhat different, which tells me something about the person who’s giving it. Yet all of the explanations share certain common points, which tell me much about the culture that surrounds me. No matter how many times I ask the same question, and no matter how many books I read, I never get a categorical definition of these words and expressions. But I get something better: I enrich myself with new perspectives and ways of appreciating Japanese culture. This world of possibilities encouraged me to do some theorizing of my own, and write my own explanation of honne and tatemae in A Geek in Japan, as well as my explanation of hansei in The Magic of Japan. Over time, it led me to write entire books titled with Japanese words I fell in love with, such as Ikigai or Ichigo Ichie.

The second recurring theme in de Mente’s work is the importance of approaching a new culture with an open mind and searching for common ground so that we can empathize with behaviors that seem strange to us. Instead of ignoring or judging a given attitude, de Mente turns to history for enlightenment. For example, in his explanation of taking a misstep (ippo machigau to, page 124), he analyzes one of the reasons why, generally, Japanese people are so afraid of making mistakes and do not want to take unnecessary risks—a mindset that often frustrates Western businesspeople when trying to do business with Japanese companies. To explain this phenomenon, de Mente goes back to an edict issued at the beginning of the Tokugawa shogunate (1603–1868) that allowed the samurai class to execute other people without trial. For centuries, the Japanese lived in fear of making a mistake and having a samurai end their lives at any moment. Although this edict was abolished long ago, the fear of taking a misstep remains very present in the subconscious of the Japanese. At the end of the ippo machigau to section (page 124), de Mente concludes that, Knowing something about [a mindset’s] origins and influence may offer some solace to those having to deal with it.

Just as a travel guide provides maps to guide you through a place, the book you hold in your hands is a cultural compass for understanding the Japanese psyche and empathizing with the behavior of its people. For me, it was a fundamental read that shaped my vision and enriched my understanding of Japan.

Happy reading!

Héctor García

Okinawa, Japan

August, 2024

揚げ足

Ageashi (Ah-gay-ah-she)

Tripping on Your Own Tongue

The Japanese have traditionally been wary of people who were good talkers, equating the habit and demonstrations of such ability with unprincipled, untrustworthy behavior. While this attitude toward loquacity is also common in the West, in Japan the negative response to people who talk a great deal has been much more deeply ingrained in the culture and far more important in the overall scheme of things—particularly in the past.

The distrust and dislike of verbosity in Japan had its origin in Buddhism and Confucianism, both of which called for a quiet, contemplative demeanor and held that actions spoke much louder than words.

Historically in Japan, self-restraint in expression was equated with cultural attainment, morality and wisdom, and a great deal of all communication was therefore silent—a function of cultural intuition rather than words.

Another key factor contributing to the importance of verbal restraint was the nature of Japanese etiquette itself. In formal situations, saying exactly the right thing, at the right time, and in the right way, was an absolute requirement. In encounters with superiors, the authorities, and government and court officials, including samurai warriors, speech standards were especially strict, and the consequence of not adhering to them precisely could literally be fatal. Because of this obsessive concern with a precise protocol in verbal communication, it became characteristic of the Japanese to say as little as possible in order to avoid ageashi (ah-gay-ah-she), or being tripped up by their own tongue.

Occasions when slips of the tongue, ageashi wo toru (ah-gay-ah-she oh toe-rue), could have serious, even fatal, consequences were so common in Japanese life that avoiding them was a never-ending challenge. Thus, verbosity in itself was dangerous, because the more a person talked the more likely it was that he or she might make some kind of error in the choice of vocabulary, use the wrong tone of the voice, or try the patience of the listener—all of which could trigger a negative reaction from the other party.

In present-day Japan, committing an ageashi is still a serious breach of etiquette, and with some exceptions people still react negatively to big talkers—including politicians. People who are permitted a certain talkativeness include entertainers—particularly comedians whose stock-in-trade is their wit and facile-tongued newscasters, professional commentators, educators, and increasingly since the early 1990s, a few of the country’s leading businessmen who have achieved the status of sensei (sen-say-e), teacher or master, and are no longer looked upon only as businessmen.

The Japanese, however, are a long way from accepting and being comfortable with the fast-talking, free-for-all kind of verbal behavior that is common among Americans and other Westerners, and as a consequence, an appreciation of talkative behavior is one of the handicaps that adversely affects the ability of Westerners to communicate effectively in Japan. It is an ironic cultural twist that while the Japanese prefer verbal restraint and periods of silence, Americans regard reticence to talk as a weakness, and periods of silence as a vacuum that must be filled up.

Japanese negotiators almost always take for granted that Westerners will commit any number of ageashi during the course of meetings because of their propensity to talk, and the Japanese encourage this by keeping quiet most of the time. The Japanese custom of reticence in speech thus contributes to the American habit of talking too much—of literally engaging in sekkyo (sake-k’yoe), or preaching, at every opportunity. This factor becomes even more significant when it is combined with the Japanese custom of deliberately interspersing time gaps into their negotiating sessions that are especially stressful—periods of one, two, or more minutes when they simply stop listening and take impromptu breaks.

There is nothing malicious about these breaks. Formal encounters in Japan have always demanded extraordinary attention and concentration and were therefore stressful. It became customary to insert such breaks into formal situations so the participants could relax for a short while. But all too often when the Japanese side tunes out, inexperienced American negotiators presume that they are not getting through to the Japanese; the Americans then panic and redouble their verbal efforts to break down what they perceive as a barrier.

Generally speaking, the foreign side in negotiating sessions cannot speed up the flow of the meetings by changing the built-in behavior of their Japanese counterparts, so the only rational course is to adapt to the situation at hand.

See Kosho.

論う

Age Tsurau (Ah-gay T’sue-rah-oh)

Finding Endless Fault

The Japanese, like many other people, take perverse satisfaction in criticizing their politicians, businesspeople, educators, doctors and just about every other category of people in the country—despite the fact that they often go to extremes in praising Japan’s accomplishments and generally see themselves as superior to other people. The Japanese behave in this seemingly contradictory manner because they have much higher expectations of their compatriots which are not usually met.

When it comes to the level to which expectations are met, however, the Japanese are in a class by themselves. While other people are generally satisfied with a degree of skill, efficiency and quality that is far below the maximum possible, the Japanese were traditionally conditioned to strive for perfection in everything they did. Anything less than perfection was subject to being criticized.

Although most of the attitudes and practices that created and sustained Japan’s perfectionist syndrome have weakened or disappeared altogether, perfectionism was so deeply rooted in the culture that it is still a significant factor in the character and behavior of most of the people.

Present-day Japanese who are involved in international business regard this cultural characteristic with mixed emotions. On the one hand, they are proud of their high standards; on the other hand, they recognize that their standards are sometimes too high and that overly high standards may be a serious impediment to business. It is becoming more and more common for Westernized Japanese to apologize to their foreign counterparts for the fastidiousness of their own colleagues, many of whom seem to be more dedicated to age tsurau (ah-gay t’sue-rah-oh), or endless fault-finding, than they are to actually doing business.

The immediate reaction of these age tsurau people to anything new is to look for faults—to dissect every product and every proposition from every angle to see if it meets their cultural expectations. Where Western-made products are concerned, these built-in concerns cover the overall appearance of a product—the design, size, color, material, finish, touch and other features. If any one of these factors is culturally incompatible, which is not always the same as saying it is not well made, the product is generally turned down, or it is suggested that the product be redesigned to fit Japanese expectations. There is a growing facet of this cultural barrier, however, that works in favor of the outsider trying to get in. Japanese importers or buyers who decide on what will sell and what will not sell in the Japanese marketplace, especially those who are older, are often behind the times.

I have personally been involved in numerous attempts to introduce products into Japan, been told by potential importers and distributors that the products would not sell because they were culturally unsuited to Japan, and then seen the products become runaway sellers within a year. But the foreign businessman wanting to establish a relationship with a Japanese company, and especially to sell a foreign-made product in Japan, must still be concerned about every imaginable detail of the product.

From the Japanese viewpoint, it is the small things that make the difference between success and failure in any enterprise.

Perhaps the only practical way to reduce the amount of time it takes to implement a business deal with Japanese companies is to provide, on the first approach, written answers to every question they might reasonably be expected to have, along with a generous number of other answers that are only indirectly related to the product or project.

愛想笑い

Aiso Warai (Aye-so Wah-rye)

Beware of Fake Smiles

One of the denigrating stories that Westerners used to tell about the Japanese, and about other Asians as well, was that they had so little respect for human life that when a member of their family or someone else close to them suffered a serious tragedy or died, they would laugh instead of cry.

In reality, when faced with tragedy and death, the Japanese suffered the pangs of sorrow just as much as anyone else, but they had been conditioned by their culture to repress their emotions in public in order not to upset or embarrass other people. The smile that they showed to the outside world was their way of both hiding their own feelings and protecting others.

The cultural conditioning responsible for this traditional behavior has virtually disappeared from Japanese society. The display of strong emotions in public is no longer taboo and is seen often. Older Japanese who respond to sad events with stoicism are no different from their counterparts in other cultures.

There are occasions, however, when an aiso warai (aye-so wah-rye), or fake smile, is an important aspect of contemporary Japanese behavior, and aiso warai provides a lesson in how serious many Japanese businessmen are in creating a positive atmosphere for their customers.

Most Western visitors to Japan are struck and deeply impressed by the attitude and behavior of employees in department stores and other large places of business catering to the general public. There are few if any dour expressions, and as a rule, the employees act friendly and are eager to help customers. Their smiling, friendly expressions are not always natural ones, however, and wearing a pleasant demeanor is not left up to the discretion of employees. Japanese operators of public service businesses such as hotels, restaurants, cabarets and retail outlets have traditionally instructed their employees in the art of making their customers feel good by keeping a happy, grateful look on their faces. In the employee instructional materials of some companies, the right kind of facial expression is described in specific detail, pointing out that employees should continuously strive to maintain a look that expresses love for their customers and gratitude for their patronage.

This aspect of human relations has been developed to a high art in Japan’s nighttime entertainment trades, particularly in cabarets and other drinking places that feature the company of hostesses. Here, where customers come specifically to enjoy themselves and to forget their problems or worries, making the customer feel good is the first priority of the entire staff.

The most successful hostesses (successful in terms of how much their customers spend and how long the hostesses survive in the highly competitive atmosphere of the cabaret world) invariably include those who have good-natured, smiling faces and who are expert at combining this with a sensual, tantalizing behavior that keeps attracting regular customers. Hostesses who do not naturally have these personality traits must depend instead upon a well-practiced aiso warai manner, often combined with sexual availability, to keep them in the business.

Because of the traditional role of aiso warai in Japan, the Japanese recognize an artificial smile when they see one; but because a smile is unnatural does not detract from its value if it is used in a traditionally accepted manner and place. Under these circumstances, aiso warai is recognized as a legitimate type of role-playing that not only contributes to better business, but also to the emotional well-being of all who are involved.

Foreign businessmen and politicians should be wary of going too far with an aiso warai approach to their Japanese counterparts. Typical Western behavior often strikes the Japanese as being too shallow and insincere in the first place. In formal situations, overdoing a warm, smiling, joking manner results in a decidedly negative reaction from the Japanese.

相槌

Aizuchi (Aye-zoo-chee)

Synchronizing Your Movements

In feudal Japan there was a precise way to perform virtually every daily activity, from tying one’s shoes and holding chopsticks to bowing and presenting a gift or other article to a person.

This preciseness in the way things were done was the only accepted form of behavior, and over the centuries it came to be equated with morality. The moral person behaved in the prescribed manner. Anyone who behaved differently was regarded as antisocial and un-Japanese. Japanese culture therefore had an especially powerful homogenizing influence on the members of the society.

Despite the great deal of casual and personalized behavior that one sees in Japan today, the cultural conditioning that took place over many centuries is far from gone, and it continues to add a distinctive color and flavor to life.

In traditional settings, whether in the home, in ryokan (ree-oh kahn) inns, or in business offices, the Japanese still automatically follow most of the age-old patterns of behavior, because the customs remain a part of their identity as Japanese.

Part of this Japanese identity includes a custom that involves positive reinforcement in oral communication. When the Japanese hold informal conversations, as well as when they engage in formal discussions, they are conditioned to constantly encourage the person who is speaking by what is known as aizuchi (aye-zoo-chee), or chiming in, meaning that they nod at regular intervals, say hai (hi), yes, or make an affirmative uh sound.

The custom of aizuchi is deeply ingrained in the Japanese, and the habit often misleads foreigners who are not familiar with it, because they presume that the Japanese are indicating that they understand, that they agree, that they want the speaker to continue, and so on. As it happens, none of the above may be true, and in formal negotiations there is always the chance that interpreting aizuchi as an affirmative may be erroneous. In most cases, the person giving the aizuchi is simply obeying a cultural impulse to signal to the speaker that he or she is listening—or at least pretending to listen.

At the same time, the custom of aizuchi is an important courtesy that is expected as part of overall Japanese etiquette. Failure to respond with a suitable aizuchi nod or sound clearly indicates that the listener is in an unfriendly or unreceptive mood, or that something else is preventing communication.

This kind of personal interaction is part of the intimacy that the Japanese share in their efforts to achieve and maintain harmony. Ostensibly, aizuchi keeps the Japanese on the same cultural wavelength and help make things go smoothly. Of course, Westerners have their own aizuchi, but it is far less vital to Western communication and harmonious relations, even though the signals are just as often used in a noncommittal way to avoid agreeing or disagreeing with someone.

The use of aizuchi presents a special problem for foreigners who are not familiar with Japanese behavior, because most foreigners tend to automatically accept the signals at face value. It is important for foreigners to realize that neither a nod nor a yes, or hai, necessarily mean that they are being understood by the Japanese, or that anyone is agreeing with them; it is often necessary to take other steps to determine where the Japanese really stand on a proposal or on an issue. This is particularly vital when the linguistic ability of the Japanese party is weak or in doubt. The Japanese habitually give affirmative signs when they do not understand someone because they consider it rude to stop the speaker, and, generally, because they would be embarrassed by admitting that they do not understand.

Conversely, foreigners dealing with the Japanese get caught up in the same cultural trap and behave exactly as the Japanese do—indicating that they understand when they do not, and thereby allowing many things to go over their heads. This kind of behavior from both sides is a primary source of the frustration, misunderstanding and extra time that is involved in discussions between the Japanese and foreigners.

When foreigners are on the receiving end of discussions, virtually the only strategy that assures comprehension is to take notes during the conversation and later to apologize and ask the Japanese to clarify the points they were making—more than once if necessary. If foreigners are making the presentation and have any indication that their Japanese audience might not fully understand their comments, they should pause frequently during their discourse and ask if there are any questions or if anyone would like a point covered again. Generally, there are a few Japanese in any group that will ask questions. Ultimately, if the Japanese audience is not truly bilingual, the only solution is to have the main points translated into Japanese and given to the Japanese participants as advance information or as a follow-up memo.

There is still another aspect of the aizuchi trap. Foreigners who study the Japanese language and spend much of their time associating with Japanese, and who otherwise immerse themselves in Japanese society, soon find themselves behaving like the Japanese, bowing and giving other characteristic nonverbal signals. This makes the Japanese feel more at ease, and facilitates the flow of communication. But such behavior typically misleads the Japanese into believing that the foreigner not only understands the Japanese language, but will also accept their viewpoint. Foreigners whose verbal communication skills in Japanese are not on a par with the much easier nonverbal skills must be especially careful not to fall into this trap.

垢抜けした

Akanukeshita (Ah-kah-nuu-kay-sshtah)

The Power of Polished Manners

Having been intimately involved with Japan since the late 1940s, I am forever wondering what it is like for Westerners, especially Americans, to experience present-day Japan for the first time.

I have witnessed such experiences thousands of times, have made a point of asking hundreds of individuals to describe their experiences to me, and have traveled around Japan with dozens of people from the moment of their arrival in the country—and still I have the same intense sense of wonder. The problem is that I want to be them—to have the experience myself, over and over, and that, of course, is impossible.

Over half a century of observing the reactions of Westerners to Japan has taught me a number of things—one of which is the extraordinary impact that traditional Japanese manners have on Americans. While Americans generally take great pride in their casual, informal ways—in effect, in their lack of manners—their reactions when they encounter the formal, highly stylized etiquette of the Japanese suggest that they are suddenly embarrassed and feel awkward. This reaction is partially valid; a lack of a relatively high standard of manners often relates directly to one’s character and attitude toward other people. But some foreigners go overboard in their praise of Japanese etiquette because they cannot see beyond its facade.

The problem with Japan’s traditional etiquette is that it went too far and was eventually divorced from moral or humane feelings; etiquette alone became the standard of morality, making it an end unto itself and often masking the most inhumane and immoral behavior.

Traditional Japanese etiquette had its origins in ancient Shinto rituals, in court ceremonies adopted from Korea and China between the years 300 and 700, and in the ritualistic practices of Buddhist priests. Japan’s samurai warrior class, which rose to power in the late 1100s and which drew its spiritual and practical philosophy from Zen Buddhism, was to put the finishing touches on Japan’s traditional etiquette, spreading it among the general population by example and edict, and thereby preserving it down to modern times.

The essence of Japanese etiquette is described in the term akanukeshita (ah-kah-nuu-kay-sshtah), which literally means what is left after all of the dirt and grime has been removed and in practical terms refers to refined, elegant manners and speech.

Few Japanese families today have the motivation, patience, or time to condition their children in the physical facets of traditional Japanese etiquette, much less its underlying philosophy. Most young Japanese first encounter aspects of the country’s traditional etiquette in a structured and disciplined setting in school, where it is imposed upon them as part of the educational system. But because it is no longer the foundation for all interpersonal relationships, much of the etiquette they learn in school is ignored outside the classroom.

The weakening of Japan’s traditional etiquette between 1945 and 1965 resulted in a dramatic spurt in the crime rate and in social disturbances in general. By the 1980s, corporate managers had become deeply concerned about the lack of manners and discipline in their new employees, and many companies began sponsoring intensive training programs designed to remove the dirt and grime from them. Since that time, behavioral standards set at the workplace have played a more significant role in preserving Japanese etiquette than the home and school combined. Businesses that serve the public directly are especially strict in their standards for employee behavior.

Most Westerners continue to find Japanese etiquette both impressive and intimidating. Americans in particular are uncomfortable in the presence of akanukeshita people who also speak a different language. All too often Westerners go too far in their attempts to accommodate the Japanese and not appear ill-mannered; they praise the Japanese too highly and lower their expectations of what they originally hoped to get from the Japanese.

Not surprisingly, however, many present-day Japanese feel inhibited and abused by the etiquette demands they must live up to in their homeland, and envy the casual manners of the West. They often note that both sides will be better served when the Japanese are subjected to a little less akanukeshita scrubbing and Westerners to considerably more.

諦めが悪い

Akirame ga Warui (Ah-kee-rah-may gah Wah-rue-ee)

We Don’t Know How to Quit!

Japan’s defeat in World War II was the most significant and most traumatic event in the country’s long history. In the early spring of 1945, by which time it had become more than obvious that the country had lost a war for the first time in its history, there was a flurry of activity among a number of internationally minded Japanese to end the fighting and to save the main islands of Japan from further bombing raids and from being invaded by the United States and its allied powers.

By June of that year, the situation had become so desperate that some of the most militant and nationalistic officers in the armed forces began acknowledging that there was no way Japan could win, and if the fighting were not stopped soon, the very existence of the country could be in jeopardy. Dozens of meetings were held and all kinds of suggestions for ending the war were endlessly discussed. Finally, in desperation, a ranking military officer blurted out, We don’t know how to surrender!

This soul-wrenching cry spoke volumes about Japan’s formalized and process-oriented feudal culture, which had conditioned people to behave in such precise patterns that flexibility and individual innovation were almost always taboo. Once a course of action had been officially approved, the only acceptable approach was to follow it to the end, regardless of how bitter the end might be.

Many of the more turbulent events in Japanese history, including acts at the individual and at the national level, have been made inevitable by the demands of a system that did not allow deviations from programmed behavior and official plans, regardless of the circumstances or conditions existing at the time, or how circumstances or conditions might change. These events included wars, acts of revenge, ceremonial suicides by samurai warriors and military officers, and mass suicides by civilians caught up in the madness of a system that took precedence over people.

Soon after the end of the Pacific War in August 1945, Japan’s political and business leaders began focusing on rebuilding the nation with all of the considerable skill and energy they had previously devoted to the war effort. Workers and managers were programmed to succeed. There was no such thing as an eight-hour workday or a 40-hour workweek. The whole country became a beehive of incessant activity. The people worked with what has been described as a hot fury, in part to expiate the shame of having failed at war, but also to satisfy an obsession to prove that they were a superior people.

By the 1980s, the Japanese had succeeded so well in their drive for economic power that they again came under attack, this time by foreign politicians and businessmen who criticized them for saving too much, for working too hard, and for giving no quarter when it came to taking over foreign markets and protecting their own markets. In addition to long hours of work, many Japanese managers never took their authorized vacations, and as a result they lost touch with their families, becoming strangers in their own homes.

Once again the Japanese were faced with the need to change, this time from robot-like economic animals to a less intense, less work-driven behavior that would not only improve their lifestyles, but which would also cut back on the avalanche of Japanese-made exports that was smothering the United States and other countries. But just as in 1945, the Japanese were unable to change their behavior because they were still locked in the same akirame ga warui (ah-kee-rah-may gah wah-rue-ee), or I/we don’t know how to quit syndrome, that prolonged World War II for months.

The situation ultimately became so serious that the government, even though caught up in the same feudalistic time warp of blindly pursuing its goals, began to exhort company managers and employees to reduce their working hours and to develop social lives.

Today most workers in Japan are on a five-day workweek schedule, and the leisure industries are booming. But the majority of Japanese managers continue to suffer from the akirame ga warui conditioning that makes them work like drones.

諦めない

Akiramenai (Ah-kee-rah-may-nigh)

Do or Die

There have been innumerable incidents in Japanese history in which people found themselves in life-or-death situations and chose to die rather than live. Many of these incidents involved samurai, ninja, or soldiers; others involved just ordinary people.

There have also been numerous historical incidents in which the persons involved chose to die—often by their own hand—although their predicaments were not life-threatening, or even desperate from the Western viewpoint.

Some of the most famous anecdotes in Japanese history have to do with individuals killing themselves in order to attract attention to some issue or to some fault in their superiors—a custom that is also common in other Asian countries; in Vietnam and elsewhere in Southeast Asia, monks have drenched themselves with gasoline and set themselves on fire in a form of protest.

Of course, being willing to die for a principle or for the sake of others occurs in other cultures too, but the willingness of the Japanese to sacrifice themselves has traditionally gone well beyond the ordinary. Historically, Japanese culture as a whole has generally been one of self-sacrifice—of individuals repressing and denying their individuality in service to their families, communities, employers and country.

Another facet of this cultural conditioning in self-sacrifice occurred at a purely personal level. The Japanese have been programmed to persevere in whatever they set out to do, regardless of the obstacles and hardships they encounter. This conditioning was so thorough in the past that perseverance became automatic. Broadly speaking, every Japanese was programmed to the point that once they had set out to do something, they could not turn back or give up. Akiramenai (Ah-kee-rah-may-nigh), or I can’t give up, became a byword, and not being able to give up became a part of the fate of the Japanese. It permeated their psyche.

The characteristic persistence of the Japanese, whether in pursuing artistic or martial skills, in war, in business, or in seeking revenge for any insult or slight, is partly rooted in the akiramenai syndrome—though unbounded pride also plays a key role in this persistence.

Another aspect of this do or die syndrome in Japanese culture was that attempting to achieve goals directly and quickly, and directly confronting challenges to these efforts, invariably resulted in a severe backlash that could be fatal. This prompted the Japanese to generally approach their goals in a subtle manner, concealing both their actions and their goals, to avoid attracting opposition.

The degree and power of Japan’s do or die cultural conditioning has been steadily declining since the end of the feudal system in Japan in 1945. But it was so strong and pervasive for so long that the legacy lingers on, and this characteristic of the culture is still a readily discernible factor in the behavior of most adult Japanese today.

Descriptions of Japanese attitudes and behavior today invariably note that rather than trying to achieve major goals quickly and openly, the Japanese will typically take small, subtle, incremental steps. Said one expatriate businessman in Japan: Instead of dashing straight up a mountain they want to climb, the Japanese way is to circle it slowly, gradually working their way to the top. That way, nobody pays much attention to what they are doing. Applying this principle often allows the Japanese to reap the benefits of many economic and political situations by staying out of the public spotlight.

悪循環

Akujunkan (Ah-kuu-june-kahn)

The Great Runaround

One of the great frustrations of life in Japan, and one of the things that contributes to an unbelievable amount of inefficiency—despite the country’s reputation for high productivity—is the practice of dividing various functions into their smallest parts, and requiring that each one be done separately in a different place, by a different person. Until the 1990s, virtually all local and national government offices, post offices and banks were notorious examples of this divide-and-complicate syndrome.

In post offices, for example, one had to go to one window to have a letter or package weighed, to another window for stamps, and to yet a third window to mail the item. If something else was required, such as a tax stamp, it could mean visiting a fourth window.

The worst aspects of the traditional Japanese custom of akujunkan (ah-kuu-june-kahn), which translates as vicious circle, or evil runaround, have finally been eliminated from the more mundane activities of daily life, but the custom continues to persist to varying degrees in government agencies, in commercial companies, and in professional organizations. Foreign businesspeople most often encounter bureaucratic government akujunkan when they are trying to get approvals or licenses to import or manufacture a product. In some cases, the process may require action by half a dozen or more agencies or departments, and must be completed in a required order.

Having to circulate documents to several different control centers is in itself not the problem. The problem is that this system offers virtually unlimited possibilities for abuse, and can be turned into a costly or insurmountable unofficial barrier that petitioners can do nothing about if they do not have any political clout that can be applied in the right place.

In commercial enterprises, akujunkan can be used in the same way to slow down or otherwise thwart business proposals or projects that are already underway. The process of getting a proposal through a large Japanese company can be so complex and time-consuming, however, that foreigners are likely to regard themselves as victims of an evil runaround even when there is no such intent by the Japanese side.

One way to determine if a proposal is being subjected to an akujunkan is to develop a personal relationship with a member of the company who is involved with the process; take the person out for an evening on the town, and subtly inform him or her that you would appreciate hearing the real truth, honto no koto (hohn-toe no koe-toe), about how the proposal is faring. This kind of relationship is generally essential to get a proposal off the ground floor and circulating in a Japanese company in the first place, so developing close contacts is part of the modus operandi in dealing with Japanese companies.

Another way of determining if a project is being stalled and if akujunkan is involved is to have a highly placed Japanese contact with connections at the company make an unofficial inquiry on your behalf.

Where commercial and professional organizations are concerned, the Japanese are not nearly as likely as foreigners to being victimized by runarounds because they may be tipped off by cultural nuances or signs that are often undetectable to foreigners, but are very conspicuous to the Japanese. In some cases, these signs are the vocabulary and the tone of voice that is used in discussing the proposals. If a section manager, department manager or director says that something is muzukashii (muu-zoo kah-shee), troublesome, or difficult, for example, it almost always means they are not interested in a particular proposal or proposition.

Since the 1980s, a movement has been underway in Japan to eliminate the reluctance of the Japanese to say no directly and quickly when they are not interested in a proposal, but no progress is being made. The more Japanese have been exposed to Western influence, however, the more likely they are to be candid and forthright in their responses to overtures from the outside.

It is advisable for foreign businesspeople approaching a Japanese company to make it very clear up front that they want their Japanese counterparts to be frank and forward in their responses, and if a business process continues for an unreasonable length of time, it is good to repeat this request. If the Japanese are genuinely interested in the proposal and are still considering it, they will explain the delay.

甘い、甘く

Amai / Amaku (Ah-my / Ah-mah-kuu)

Spreading on the Sugar

During most of its history, Japan was noted as a paradise for children. Until the early 1950s, mothers habitually slept with their infant children, and carried them on their backs for several hours each day while they did housework or shopped; or they strapped them to the backs of older siblings who carried them around while they worked or played. Young children were almost never put down and left alone.

One of the results of this constant body contact and interaction was that Japanese infants and young children almost never cried. During my first decade in Japan in the 1940s and 1950s, I was very conscious of this unusual infant behavior, and many times I made note of it.

Another thing that I noted almost daily for several years while living in Japan was that Japanese mothers let their very young children play alone along the edge of a nearby canal that had a vertical embankment of some ten feet, and no barrier between its edge and the children’s makeshift playground. The mothers, whom I never heard shout at or even quietly caution their children in any way, were obviously not worried that their children would fall into the canal, and to my knowledge none ever did. Why? I still do not know.

I did become aware, however, that Japanese mothers traditionally treated their young children with an extraordinary degree of amai (ah-my), which can be translated as loving indulgence. Children who misbehaved were seldom if ever admonished, and boys in particular were allowed to have their way. I also learned that, where males were concerned, the amai syndrome was an integral part of Japan’s traditionally male-dominated, sexist society, and that for males this amai continued for life. Young boys were first indulged by their mothers, then by their wives and by public women in the nighttime entertainment trades.

One of the reasons for the extent of amai toward children in Japan apparently derived from the fact that once they reached the age of seven or eight—and in upper-class families at an even earlier age—they were forced to leave most of their childhood behind, assume serious responsibilities, and be subjected to strict discipline.

Child-raising in Japan has changed remarkably since the 1960s. Mothers seldom if ever carry infants on their backs anymore, and crying babies are now more common. More and more parents now both verbally admonish and physically punish misbehaving children, and teenage delinquency is growing steadily. Mothers still cater to their young school-age sons, however, because of the self-imposed pressure the mothers are under to see that their sons pass very demanding tests required to get into the more desirable schools.

While Japanese wives generally no longer cater to their husbands’ every whim or remain quiet about extramarital affairs, amai has not disappeared from the adult male scene. There are still several hundred thousand bars, cabarets, clubs, bathhouses and discreet assignation houses where men can go and be indulged to their hearts’ content.

There is another side to this cultural coin that is called amaku (ah-mah-kuu), which has perhaps even deeper implications for Japanese society. Japanese men have been and still are conditioned by the culture to amaku women—that is to look down on them, to denigrate their abilities and worth, and to treat them like playthings or like children. Japanese men also have a tendency to view foreigners, both men and women, with a certain amount of amaku; Japanese men feel that their education, discipline and spirit are superior to that of foreign men.

飴と鞭

Ame to Muchi (Ah-may toe Muu-chee)

Candy or the Whip

In war and in the administration of the laws of the shogunate, torture during Japan’s feudal age was routine. When government agents dispatched common people, the methods were designed to be especially cruel in order to instill fear in the public. Samurai who fell into disfavor and received death sentences were given the right to kill themselves rather than suffer the ignominy of death by one of the other more gruesome Japanese methods of killing. Although this right was deemed a privilege, the samurai way of immolating themselves, hara-kiri (hah-rah-kee-ree), or stomach-cutting, was anything but humane and painless.

The cultural contradictions demonstrated by the dual attitude of the Japanese toward harmony and peace and the means to achieve them were not limited to matters involving rivalries between clans, or issues of shogunate law, public security, and so on. Contradictions permeated Japanese society in general. Just behind the facade of Japan’s exquisitely refined etiquette, the extraordinary hospitality extended to guests, and the gentleness and generosity of the common people, there was a hard core of cruelty lurking in the background.

This cultural conditioning in cruelty accounted for the excesses of the samurai during Japan’s feudal age, as well as the killing orgies Japanese soldiers inflicted upon people they captured during World War II.

There has never been a universal quality to Japanese behavior, however. It has traditionally been selective, and it so remains today. How the Japanese treat people depends on the category of the person involved, and whether or not any personal relationship exists.

Examples of overt physical cruelty are rare in Japan today, but there continues to be an element of mental cruelty in present-day Japanese society—cruelty in the sense that, generally speaking, people are not allowed to honestly or candidly express themselves; they are required to suppress their individuality in most professional and public situations.

Japanese society still operates on the principle of ame to muchi (ah-may toe muu-chee), candy and the whip, a not-so-subtle reference to the fact that if anyone breaches the rules of established conduct, they will be punished. Government agencies, corporations, professional organizations, and the like maintain a public facade of treating the public, employees, members of groups, and so on, with ame, candy—with the kindness and gentleness of a mother caring for a child, but behind that facade is muchi or the whip, and the threat of serious punishment if anyone steps out of line.

In spite of its emphasis on wa (wah), harmony, and heiwa (hay-e-wah), peace, Japanese society has always been impregnated with a broad streak of cruelty and a penchant for violence that has been regularly inflicted upon people in order to ensure harmony and peace. In fact, Japanese history has been characterized by an almost infinite number of incidents involving cruelty and violence as an official and routine practice; furthermore, cruelty in Japan was traditionally not only an instrument of the government. It was also something that the people, particularly the samurai class, often inflicted upon themselves.

Rather than a flogging with bamboo whips, which was one of the practices during Japan’s long feudal period, punishment in contemporary Japan most often consists of social and economic sanctions which include expelling people from their groups, removing them from consideration for promotion, refusing to cooperate with them, disallowing licenses, and similar kinds of ostracism.

Foreign employers in Japan must be very cautious about using the muchi part of the ame to muchi approach to management, because Japanese employees will normally not accept disciplinary action from foreigners. Generally speaking, the Japanese carefully distinguish between foreign behavior and Japanese behavior, and they resist foreign efforts to punish them with Japanese methods.

The Japanese do not like the indigenous system of punishment, but there is no way they can avoid it, as long as they are members of a Japanese corporation or organization. When foreign organizations are concerned, however, they know that muchi can be avoided; furthermore, Japanese employees often dispute the right of a foreign company to discipline them in the first place.

The only practical solution to this problem of employee discipline by foreign employers is to have the forms of punishment that the company can impose clearly detailed in comprehensive articles of employment that all employees are required to sign as a condition of their employment.

暗黙の了解

Anmoku no Ryokai (Ahn-moe-kuu no Rio-kie)

Unspoken Understanding

The relatively small size of the Japanese archipelago and the virtual isolation of the Japanese from the rest of the world throughout most of their history has led to an extraordinary degree of homogenization of Japan and its culture. This homogenization process became a matter of government policy following the ascendancy of the Tokugawa Shogunate in 1603, and the policy was continued until the end of World War