Of Mice and Japanese Men
How a badass Tennessee country girl won the respect of a misogynistic Japanese manager
“Tim-san,” whispered Mr. Ito, “would you do me a favor?”
“Sure,” I whispered back.
“Would you get me a cup of green tea from the break room?”
It was an odd request. Ito-san wasn’t one to go around asking coworkers to serve him green tea. I didn’t mind helping him score his ocha fix, but I couldn’t contain my curiosity.
“I’ll get your tea, Ito-san. But why are you asking me to do it?”
He cast his eyes downward, hesitated, then said, “There’s a mouse in the break room, and I’m afraid of the mouse!”
Well this was the last thing I expected to hear. But at least the whispering made sense now. Without thinking, I boldly declared, “Well I’m not afraid of the mouse!” (I was a little afraid but embarrassed to admit it.)
And with that, I advanced into the break room with my bravest face on, my mission, to extract a cup of green tea from an area now controlled by the mouse. If the mouse confronted me, my plan was to jump up on a chair and scream.
Thankfully it didn’t come to that. I slipped in and out with my dignity intact, a newly minted hero in Mr. Ito’s eyes.
Unbeknownst to me at the time, the fun was just beginning. A few minutes later, our Japanese engineering manager, Ishiyama-san, called me to his desk to translate a passage from his maintenance manual. Ishiyama was sitting with his back to the break-room entrance; I was sitting across from him with a direct-line view of the coffee-maker.
Enter Sheila, our shipping clerk, who stopped by to refill her coffee mug. As she was about to pour her coffee, the mouse scampered toward her. Big mistake.
I watched in awe and horror as Sheila raised her right leg and came down hard with the heel of her boot: thwack!
The poor mouse never knew what hit him.
Unaware of the carnage happening behind him, Ishiyama rambled on about hydraulic systems, or maybe it was limit switches, I wasn’t listening anymore.
Sheila then bent over, picked up the dead mouse by the tail, and nonchalantly walked through the office, swinging the rodent much like you’d carry a designer-brand handbag. She opened the front door and flung the mangled mouse into an adjacent field.
As she walked back to the break room, she brushed her hands together several times with deliberate light taps, as if she did this every day, which she probably did.
The only part of this extraordinary event that Ishiyama witnessed was Sheila walking through the office swinging that dead mouse. But that’s all it took. So moved was Ishiyama by this spectacle that, for a fleeting moment, I thought he might give Sheila a standing ovation. He didn’t, but that magical moment would forever alter his perspective on what a woman was capable of doing.
To appreciate the dramatic nature of Ishiyama’s epiphany, it helps to know that he was an old-school Japanese salaryman who thought that women had no place in a factory. But when Sheila walked by his desk swinging that dead mouse, his eyes got as wide as saucers and a big grin spread across his face. It was the first time I ever saw the man smile.
That’s when he turned to me and said, “I’m a conservative Japanese guy. I never liked the idea of women working in a factory. But any woman who can do that is welcome in my factory!”
Moral of the story
In the context of the U.S. workplace, with a Japanese leadership team compelled to comply with U.S. labor laws and customs, women have been given more and more chances to overcome gender-bias in Japanese companies, and I’ve been lucky to personally witness so many talented ladies demonstrate their worth.
Sheila’s story above is the most extreme and colorful in my repertoire of experiences. The good news is, if you’re a woman working for a U.S.-based Japanese company, you don’t have to kill a mouse to win over your male Japanese coworkers.
Here’s a less colorful but equally powerful example.
Edith, the rock star
Edith was a member of our client’s improvement team. She was new to kaizen (continuous improvement) so we trained her from scratch. A quick study, she turned out to be a force of nature.
With her endearing southern drawl and nurturing demeanor, Edith could always find creative ways to bond and communicate with Japanese coworkers. She couldn’t speak a lick of Japanese, but somehow managed to bridge the gaps through the sheer force of her personality.
Edith used interpreters only when it was absolutely necessary; her default mode was to communicate directly with Japanese coworkers. To achieve these ends, she drew pictures, looked up words in the dictionary, even played charades when the situation called for it.
But her most valuable attribute was her empathetic and proactive nature. And it worked like a charm; her thoughtful actions transcended language and culture — they spoke much louder than Japanese words ever could.
Over time, Edith’s hard work, competence, and demeanor earned the respect of Japanese managers, all of whom were men. She eventually became the “go-to guy” in the plant for the Japanese staff. Once the Japanese saw Edith demonstrate competence in her job and produce consistent results, they stopped caring about her gender, and many came to prefer working with her over her male counterparts. Edith was a rock star.
I’ve seen many other Japanese expat managers working in the U.S. change their tunes about women. A dear old Japanese friend who lived and worked in the U.S. for over three decades once confessed to me (over too many beers) that he also preferred working with American women. In his own words:
“Generally speaking, compared to American men, women here are more effective communicators, better multi-taskers, and they try harder because they have something to prove. As a Japanese, I highly value these attributes.”
And yes indeed, I have also seen Japanese managers in the U.S. workplace disrespect female coworkers. Goes without saying, when cultural attitudes toward gender equality clash, in my country meeting halfway is not an option. For this reason, I was never shy about reminding Japanese associates of the consequences of not adhering to U.S. laws and customs. Once they had this vital information, even the strongest resisters would (sometimes grudgingly) comply.
Meanwhile, back in Japan…
So we’ve established that, under the right conditions, Western women can indeed work well with Japanese men. Sheila and Edith are just two of many former female colleagues who earned their stripes and, as a result, were held in high regard by Japanese coworkers.
Sadly, in Japan the picture isn’t so rosy. Some women in my orbit with long established careers in Japan tell me that incremental progress is being made. I have no reason to doubt them. But however you spin it, it is indisputable that Japan still has a long way to go in leveling the gender playing field from both legal and cultural standpoints.
(For a deeper dive into the challenges for women in the Japanese workplace, check out Yuko Tamura’s excellent articles in Japonica.)
Putting aside the moral underpinnings of equal treatment and social justice, as someone who loves and is rooting for Japan, I see so much lost opportunity for corporate Japan in not tapping into the power of this highly talented half of the population. And yet, Japanese companies continue to lament the “dwindling talent pool” while they willfully overlook this precious home-grown resource. Time for the old boys to open their eyes.
If I were back in the game and running a gaishikei (foreign enterprise) in Japan, I would absolutely target local female talent, pay them what they deserve, provide ample support and the necessary conditions, then let the magic happen.
I’m hoping that more Japanese companies will come to appreciate the value of this tremendous talent sitting right under their noses. For their own damn good.
Can’t wait to see more Japanese versions of Sheila and Edith get the opportunities they deserve. If they don’t, foreign competitors will gladly poach these gems away and become better organizations for it.
If stories about my cross-cultural triumphs and failures in Japan sound like fun, you can read all about ’em here.
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© Tim Sullivan 2023
