Forced Questions, Confiscated Shoes, and Other Tales of Japan Inc.

Authors Note - I could write volumes about my experience working for nearly two decades for a Japanese company; so much potential content. Here though, I focus on a specific event and the backstory thereof.

My career got off to an auspicious start when, soon after relocating from Los Angeles to the Bay Area, I applied and was hired by a gigantic Japanese company, whose global footprint at the time rendered them the 8^th biggest company in the world. I was certainly impressed; their annual revenue topped $80 billion, and their net worth was north of $35 billion. They had over 300,000 employees worldwide, and sold about 20,000 products through various divisions and subsidiaries. I was employed in a group that included semiconductors, disk drives, industrial equipment, and procurement services. I loved working for the company as it was operated with a heavy degree of Japanese culture, business and otherwise; it was unique and different from anything I had experienced prior to or after my 17 years there.

 Most of the senior management were expats from the “Mother ship,” working in the US on either a one, three, or five-year assignment. These individuals fell into two distinct categories: those that wanted to be here, and those that didn’t. I had superiors that designated the US as their preferred destination, took on corny American nicknames (for example, one Osamu became “Rocky” because another Osamu here had already selected the obvious “Sam” and he wanted a tough-sounding name), were super friendly and open, prioritized weekend visits to places like Yosemite, Disneyland, Las Vegas and Hollywood, and in general were going to make the best of a fantastic opportunity. On the flip-side, I also had superiors who were here because they were sent, period. They didn’t want to be here, they were hyper-unfriendly, they made the absolute worst of their time here, but benefited back home as they were seen by the parent company’s powers -that-be as good soldiers.

One factor of my job that I particularly enjoyed was the ability to travel to Japan on a fairly regular basis. As a business visitor, I was treated far better than I deserved, however, the fine treatment had nothing to do with me per se; all visitors to HQ were treated like a visiting diplomat. It’s just the way the business culture operates. Believe me, one can get tired of constant attention, beautiful gifts, and ridiculous levels of politeness. Case in point #1: After several visits to Tokyo I requested that I not have a chaperone for the weekends I’d spend there. Out of the question; case in point # 2: After several nights of fancy dining, I was asked to select what I wanted the next night. I told my colleagues that I’d prefer something super casual as a change of pace. Hell, we could do McDonald’s, seriously.  They laughed at the suggestion and commented in extremely broken English that, although they’d love to dine there, they’d be terminated (a hard thing to do in Japan in those days) if they took a business visitor there for a meal. OK, one step up from fast food then, a noodle house or a curry shop. What I had in mind was the funky, hole-in-the-wall small establishments around the corner from my hotel, but we ended up at the fanciest noodle house in Tokyo. I realized then that I would never win these battles. All-in-all though, if forced to rank in order the business highlights of my life, the multiple trips to Japan would be at the very top.

Tokyo is a remarkable city. It is estimated that 38 million people live in the metropolitan area, harmoniously and safely as little if any violent street crime exists. Organized crime syndicates (Yakuza) however, do maintain offices in most Tokyo neighborhoods. They make no attempt to hide as they have signs prominently displayed on their buildings. If you have a problem with your neighbor’s loud music or general untidiness, you can go to the local gangster who will resolve the issue quicker and likely more permanently than if you summonsed the police, and with little or no violence. Social order is paramount in Japan, with too many rules, social and business, to mention here.

 A humbling experience to saunter into a conference room, take a seat at random, and being told that you can’t sit there because that particular position at the table is reserved for the most senior person in the room. Not just today, but that particular seat in every conference room was subliminally "reserved" for the most senior person in attendance. Definitely not me. This same scenario applies to the seating arrangement of an automobile when a senior executive is involved.

Lots of things in Japanese business culture make total sense, and others not so. There is a saying in Japanese, Honne / Tatemae, which translate roughly in English to “form over content.” Doesn’t matter what you say, it’s how you say it. This would never fly in US business culture, but in Japan a successful career can be had and maintained by extremely insincere and borderline competent individuals. We even saw a few examples of this with some domestic employees who clearly figured out how to play the game. For me, I soaked up as much of the Japanese culture as I could, tried not to alienate anyone nor overcompensate for the fact that I’m not Japanese. Not losing face, or forcing your superior to lose face was the single most important aspect of my education into the culture.

In my ninth year of employment I was recommended for a prestigious program in Japan titled Overseas Management School (OMS). Those selected would come from a pool of employees throughout the world, limited to 20 participants. We would spend 3 full weeks in Tokyo at various offices and venues, meeting and hearing from senior management and guest speakers, tour factories, work with local counterparts, and have it all balanced by great meals, fine Tokyo hotels, resort living (think resort living in 1948), and countryside travel. The culmination of the training was a specially-arranged meeting with the company's Chairman of the Board, a revered individual not only to us but to the entire country.

When I got the word that I was selected for the OMS class, I immediately sought out colleagues who had been fortunate enough to be chosen for prior classes. They described their involvement, and all spoke of the overall rich experience, the camaraderie, the fabulous hospitality, and the various business cases studied and discussed. Each person proclaimed, in their own distinct manner, that the other participants in my group would, in essence, make or break the three-week period for me. I don’t recall if a roster of participants was provided prior to arriving for the class, but I was able to verify those classmates that were selected from the company’s many North American businesses.

There was a total of six North American-based employees selected. Of them, I was familiar with only one as he was employed by the same subsidiary as I, but in a different city.  The other 14 employees were interspersed from throughout the world, several being from western Europe and Asia, and a few from both the Middle East and Oceania region.

The first few days were spent at the company’s grand headquarters, a stone’s throw from the Emperor’s Palace. We were put up at one of Tokyo’s finest hotels, fed extremely well, and provided with an exciting overview of the schedule. During the first two weeks we would be sequestered in various offices in metro Tokyo for different segments of the school. This required us to change hotels more frequently than on a typical Tokyo visit. During the second week we would board a coach which would take us to a company-owned private resort, purportedly exclusive to executives, visiting dignitaries, and participants of the Overseas Management School. At the resort, we would live and work for the next week.

I must interject at this juncture that the company always did things first class, no exceptions. Even during tough times (a relative term in business), the company rarely lowered their standards, and if they did, it was merely for show. Thinking about staying at the company’s private resort brought about imagery of complete luxury; think Four Seasons at Kapalua. I questioned my closest colleague (who had attended a few years prior) about the luxury appointments of the resort. He indicated that it was  weathered and in need of some updates; I was warned not to have too high an expectation. I’d reserve judgement until I arrive.

Prior to arriving at the resort, the schedule indicated we’d be stopping for lunch at a private country club also owned by the company and, again, exclusive enough to only be available by invitation. The club had a golf course, but only 9 holes due to space constraints. It was nice and well kept, so we assumed the resort would be in kind.  An hour later, we pull through the gates of the company resort and promptly checked our calendars to verify the year we were in.  The resort consisted of many buildings, a few hiking trails, and some recreational options. It appeared that the last renovation was probably around the mid-1940s, as the entire place looked as if it barely survived World War II.  We were led into the main building’s reception area and were promptly asked to surrender our shoes.

It’s pretty much common knowledge that, in Japan, when you enter a private home or certain areas of restaurants you are expected to remove your shoes. Remove, yes, but having them confiscated though was completely new to me, and I was not warned about this practice from the alums of the program. Apparently a prior class had defied the host’s warning about leaving the property in the evening, unchaperoned to gallivant in the bars of the nearby village. Given that we were hours outside of Tokyo, only Japanese was spoken in the village, and let’s just say there were some “misunderstandings” between former OMS participants and locals that got the attention of both the folks in charge of the program and the local police. The story goes that the executive director of the resort, contacted in the middle of the night by the local police Koban, had to use the company’s considerable influence to keep a participant from being jailed and possibly deported.

Leave it to Japanese ingenuity to solve the problem. By taking our shoes and replacing them with diaphanous house slippers, we would not be able to walk through the gravel-lined sidewalks of the resort nor the half mile hike to the village. Or so they thought. I stayed put, but a few members of the class were found, completely inebriated, in a bar with their slippers barely intact. The next morning, we were informed that the gates would be locked directly after dinner service.

Although we each had a private room, there were four rooms that made up each suite, so we shared common living space with 3 other participants. This worked out well as we tended to spend the evenings in, and our wing of the building was reminiscent of a college dormitory; the open suite doors meant all were invited in. Some suites had better snacks than the others; some had more booze, some were party loud and others library quiet. It was a good mix and it didn’t take long to find our respective comfort zones. My three suite mates were all sociable gents from different corners of the globe. I recall great rapport built and lots of laughter, raunchy jokes (our class had no women; remember it's a Japanese company), an adult beverage or two, and extremely late nights.

Work time spent at the resort was valuable as the company brought in a host of guest speakers, both inside and outside the company, to school us on a variety of topics. The most memorable speaker was the managing director of Heineken KK, the Japanese subsidiary of the giant Dutch brewing conglomerate. He spoke on the trials and tribulations of trying to increase the local market share from the existing ¼ of one percent to ½ of one percent. A difficult task, as he stated the percentages hadn’t really shifted, positively or negatively, through the years. The speaker, a Dutch ex-patriot living and working in Japan, thought that possibly having local senior management might change things in the future. 

On the last day at the resort the main guest for the day was a representative from the Office of the Chairman. In near perfect English (Japanese and English being the two official languages of the company; all sessions at OMS were conducted in English), the gentleman explained to us that we would have the honor of a two-hour meeting with the company’s Chairman of the Board, and that we were expected to each ask him a question. This is where it got weird.

The meeting with the president was scheduled for the following Tuesday afternoon. We would be transported back to Tokyo on Saturday and would be required to submit our question no later than Sunday evening. The representative would accompany us on the coach back to Tokyo and be available for consultation should we have difficulties with our question. Needless to say, we were all confused and bewildered. It appeared that the representative’s main task was to act as censor should our questions be considered too provocative to expect a response. It was suggested that on the coach ride we should utilize our time by coming up with our question. Notebooks and pens were handed to us as we boarded. If we had failed to realize it before, it was now very clear we were about to participate in the "dog and pony show" of our professional lives!

I can honestly say that every member of the class had their initial question rejected. The denied questions were respectfully worded, but too controversial, inappropriate, or simply unworthy of the Chairman’s attention. We were forced to return to the drawing board as the coach took us through a series of extremely-long mountain tunnels on the scenic ride back to Tokyo. By the time we reached the city, only a handful of us had presented questions that were approved, either outright or with re-wording by the representative. My question, which was quickly rejected, pertained to the inconsistencies of specific financial policies across departments within the same operating groups. Not global enough; strike one.  My re-worked question concerned the company’s lack of agility around entering new markets. Too controversial and would put the Chairman on the spot; strike two. By Sunday evening, fresh out of ideas and dejected, I decided to simply ask the Chairman which region of the world was expected to provide the company with the most growth over the next decade.  A question of which I already knew the answer.

The representative presented our questions to the Chairman the day before our meeting so his answers could be properly rehearsed. Still, in the actual meeting after the Chairman made a translated speech, he indicated that he’d like to have each of us ask him a question, as if we had no prior preparation for the session. It was, in a word, painful.  We all knew each other’s questions in advance, and due to the non-controversial nature and requirement of the questions, we all pretty much knew the answers. Even though the Chairman knew the questions in advance, we still needed to go through the charade that we had come up with the questions on the spot.

Prior to leaving the resort, we were given a primer on how to talk to the Chairman. We were told that although he would not understand English, we still needed to stand, bow, look him directly in the eye and recite the question. The representative would translate it into Japanese, even though the two had already formulated his response. This of course virtually doubled the amount of time necessary for the Chairman to field all 20 questions. The pre-screened questions and the subsequent answers provided us with an incredibly empty experience. As typical with Japanese companies, a picture of the class with the Chairman was taken to commemorate the event, although I recall the Chairman was the only one smiling. OMS now being officially over, we could relax.

Before leaving Tokyo, I had one last obligation to have dinner with a couple of middle managers who had worked for me during their first sojourn overseas. As we dined, I told them about our experience with the Chairman, and how odd we felt having to prepare questions that were screened. This didn’t resonate with them as being told to ask questions, and, being supplied with a question if they couldn’t come up with one, was actually quite common for them. I recall a presentation that I did for a group in Tokyo. At the end I asked for questions and there were none. The senior person in the room barked out something in Japanese, and suddenly every hand in the room was raised. The content of the questions clearly indicated to me that they were provided to the participants in advance.

They were both impressed that we got an audience with the Chairman; no big deal I said, it was part of the program. I asked them both how often they see the Chairman around the HQ building. They looked at each other with quizzical looks, and then looked at me as if I had horns emerging from my head. They explained that in the 10 and 12 years respectively they had spent with the company, neither had ever seen him other than as represented in a portrait hanging in the lobby. This was hard to imagine. Never in the hallways? Cafeteria? Lobby of the building? men’s room? Both shook their heads emphatically no.

Some months after returning from the training I got word that the Chairman would be touring offices in the US and Canada, and ours would be the first stop. He would be in our building for 1 ½ hours, with those 90 minutes tightly choreographed and stage-managed as if our senior executive’s careers depended upon it. I would not be privy to any part of his visit. Although there was little likelihood that he would notice minute details like the cleanliness of a single workstation or office, an edict went out detailing his visit to our building. Included in the all-hands email was a zero-tolerance attitude on clutter and personal bric-a-brac. A Facilities team toured each floor the night before his visit to ensure the office was immaculate. The building was made up of 12 floors, a huge cafeteria, a gym, and a conference center. The Chairman saw only parts of 3 floors on his abbreviated tour, but for a single afternoon, our office building was spotless!

Although there were many who held their breath until the Chairman’s visit had come and gone, I had no stress whatsoever connected to his visit. Went about my workday no different than any other day. While standing at the sink in the men’s room chatting with a colleague, my boss (a senior Japanese ex-pat) walks in looking somewhat anxious. He nervously giggled, and said to us “the Chairman is here!” I respond by telling him that I know the Chairman is in the building, and what a proud moment it is for our subsidiary. He once again nervously giggled and informs us that the Chairman is here, pointing in the direction of the men's room door.

It took a few seconds to sink in, but what my boss was REALLY saying was that the Chairman was not only in the building, but he was standing on the other side of the door, and obviously needed to use the restroom. It became crystal clear that my boss, a senior executive both here and in Japan, and a humble man, was tasked with the thankless job of clearing out the men’s room so the Chairman had it all to himself. This was not a "single seat" office bathroom. My colleague and I gave each other the "look," and promptly left the men’s room. As we exited, the Chairman, waiting patiently by the door, had a sheepish grin on his face as if to apologize for the inconvenience. My boss, standing outside the door, chased all away who attempted to enter, regardless of rank or necessity.

As I walked back to my office I wondered how impressed the middle managers in Japan would be. They had worked for the company a good decade and had never run into the chairman anywhere in the HQ building, including in the restroom. Had I reached some lofty status, or, was it further validation of a business culture one could never completely understand? After the Chairman’s visit I shared with my boss what my Tokyo colleagues said regarding the lack of encounters with him at HQ. He explained that the Chairman would never dine in the company cafeteria, had his own private restroom in his office suite, and had a dedicated elevator taking him directly from his office to a subterranean garage, where a private car with a security detail whisked him away. In other words, it was a rare occurrence to see the Chairman at HQ if you were not in his inner circle, so I guess being included in a private audience with him was indeed a big deal.

Today the company continues to thrive as a mega-conglomerate. Not sure if the Overseas Management School is still in place, but I often wonder if participants are still force-fed questions for the Chairman and have their shoes confiscated upon arrival at the resort. If so, I hope those that have attended can look back as I have and realize that they were part of something unique and special, and to cherish the memories. Working for Japan Inc was incredibly rewarding, socially, professionally, and personally. No other employer provided me with anything even remotely as gratifying an experience. For this I'm genuinely indebted.