Japan's 'Toto world'

By Jason Lim

Every time I visit Japan, I find myself surprised at the lack of English language in the public arena. This is such a contrast with the ubiquity and even effusiveness of English language everywhere in Seoul; I mean, it's almost impossible to avoid English in Korea anywhere you go. I remember watching a TV show where contestants were challenged not to use English words in their everyday speech and failed miserably. There are even Koreans who actually use typical English names as their legal names. I don't mean Korean Americans like me. I mean Koreans, born and raised in Korea, who prefer to use English names as their primary identifier. Even more surprising is the general acceptance of such practice by the society.

In contrast, public use of English is very limited here in Japan. I am especially surprised by the lack of English on store fronts, signages, and even restaurant menus. They are there, but in a very reluctant and even grudging manner. There is a sense of passive aggressiveness about Japan's limited use of English, as if they want you to be self-conscious and somewhat embarrassed about your ignorance forcing the hosts to make such compromise to their lingual purity. I am sure there are all sorts of social and historical explanations for this phenomenon: the obvious one is that English was imposed on Japan by the occupiers and on Korea by the liberators. However, it feels deeper than that. There is definitely a sense of cultural insularity and protectiveness that you sense from Japan, however welcome you may feel. You are invited to enjoy, but perhaps not partake. Such insularity exists in Korea as well, but more focused on ethnicity rather than culture, per se.

Another difference that's obvious is the demand, or lack thereof, that the physical surroundings place on our senses. Walking or driving in Seoul feels like a literal attack on your senses, with an explosion of colors, visuals, lights, screens, posters, and everything else that reaches out, screams, and grabs at your attention for a moment of your time. It feels as if I am doom scrolling through YouTube shorts or Tic Toc videos when driving through the streets of Gangnam. The scattered flashiness and numbness of social media seems to have come alive for real. It's an assault on the senses.

In Japan, however, there seems to still be some semblance of a DMZ for your senses, a space for you to pause and observe things at speed instead of being pulled in a thousand directions at warp speed. Of course, I am in Kyoto, but I felt the same while visiting Tokyo several years ago. There is a different vibe to the respective cosmopolitan urbanity, with Korea being much more "in your face" loud while Japan is more reserved and nuanced.

Then there is the culture of privacy. I often hear that Japan's sense of privacy is to ignore what they see or hear about their neighbors. In other words, Japan's dwellings and social living norms are such that they can actually see and hear everything that their neighbors do and say; however, they are taught to actively ignore it and pretend that they hadn't seen or heard what they actually have seen and heard. So, it's privacy as a mental construct and social norm. In Korea, and in America, it's all about saying something if you see something. Once you've seen or heard something, you can't unsee or unhear something. So, privacy is all about building ways so that you can't see or hear something in the first place. It's privacy as physical infrastructure.

Japan's sense of privacy becomes painfully apparent as we spend our time in the hotel. The hotel staff are extremely courteous and considerate. Everything feels very private. However, you are observed at all times. They track exactly what you do every minute of every day. They keep track of when you had breakfast, when you enjoyed the hot springs bath downstairs, when you had guests in your room and how many, when you, when you might need extra towels, when you crave sweets, when you might be hungry for a quick snack, etc. In fact, it's as if Japan already had its Fourth Industrial Revolution ― ubiquitous connectivity and individualized experience ― except that it's manual, not virtual. It's just that their intervention is very unobtrusive and polite, if not insistent.

Even the toilets. I mean it raises its lid, flushes, and even lowers the seat automatically as you enter the space. At this rate, I wouldn't be surprised if the Toto brand of toilets and bidets that's everywhere in Japan is mapping the contours of everyone's derrieres so that it could create even more perfect bathroom experience for the individual. I mean, the automatic vacuum cleaners were caught several years ago mapping the interiors of people's house ostensibly to improve the navigation algorithm. Why not bidets? It could even greet me by name and already know whether I prefer red or blue toilet paper.

Jason Lim (jasonlim@msn.com) is a Washington, D.C.-based expert on innovation, leadership and organizational culture.