Originally published on metropolis.co.jp on February 2011

Illustration by Phil Couzens

In early January, the Associated Press reported that the Japanese perceive their country to be in decline. The account quoted a student as saying that Japan finds itself slipping among “big countries” such as China and the US, as nearby Korea rises in profile. Reasons for the regression range from the economic to the societal. But after visiting Japan six months ago, I say, not so fast, my friends.

Last June, while awaiting take off from LAX to Tokyo, the Japanese stewardess paused at my row. “Ma’am, have you had a chance to buckle your seat belt?” While this face-saving message may be no surprise to people living in Japan, the words to me tasted like freshly whipped butter frosting.

As we flew west, I perused the beverage list. The inventory ended with, “We apologize if occasionally your choice is not available.” Would a US airline ever regret lacking my favorite wine?

As flight JAL 61 continued over the Pacific, a soft voice breathed into the PA system, almost like a bedroom whisper. The intimate tone lulled me into listening to emergency procedures—not my usual style over a deep body of water.

Twelve hours later, after the hotel bellman hauled my luggage to my room, he showed me how to locate CNN and BBC on the TV, and then bowed deeply, as if he had nothing more important to do than to make me feel like Queen of the Pacific Rim.

Over the course of the next 12 days, Japan’s “gentility baste” nourished me. My requests for directions elicited a polite angled hand. Whether in a mall, a train station, or on the street, people not only told me where the destination was, but often accompanied me to ensure that I found it.

As those living in Japan know well, graciousness extends to the restrooms. A notice inside a stall detailed the toilet/bidet buttons, an array of amusing choices. The sign invited me to “Please remain seated while the function is in operation.” Hopefully, Americans would know not to stand midstream.

In restaurants, instead of “Do you have more wasabi?” as might be asked in the US, I heard, “Perhaps there might be more wasabi”—which emphasizes that the universe would be made finer by the presence of wasabi, rather than on the fact that someone failed to serve me enough in the first place.

It’s well known that language conveys culture and that culture is embedded in communication. Cultural differences, therefore, manifest themselves in what, how and when we speak. While the Japanese arrange verbal transmission on stunning platters, Americans dispense it staccato in drive-throughs.

Nowhere did I see cross-cultural divergence more than in interactions that involved a less-than-tidy reply. Because the Japanese deliver anything other than “Yes” with a sidestep, delay or silence, American visitors misinterpret their contextual codes. “Hmmm, it could be difficult” inspires an American to overcome an obstacle rather than to take the hint and drop the subject.

People familiar with Japanese culture understand that business and negotiation coalesce into a time-honored recipe. Whereas Americans feast on objectives and chatter with new associates, the Japanese nibble on shared principles, long-term associations and careful deliberation of options. A nod may not mean a deal, but validation of the speaker. To an American, ambiguity kills. Stillness and deferment—limboland—merit more than a chug of sake.

In one study, Japanese mothers talking to their babies reinforced greetings, feelings and anticipated reactions. Conversely, American mothers concentrated on objects and possessions. This suggests that American children construe the world as made up of objects, whereas Japanese children see relationships. No wonder the Japanese grow up more “tuned in.”

I’ve read that, before speaking, the Japanese weigh how their remarks will reflect on family, ancestry and community. Surely they agree with my Latin-American friends (though the Japanese would be too polite to admit): that Americans converse loudly (pitched, animated), ask personal questions, make superficial promises (“I’ll write you”) and operate oblivious to surroundings (“Did you see that guy on the street?” snickering on a bus or in an elevator of strangers). Americans don’t ponder the effect of their natter on great-grandmother’s repute.

My short stay in Japan, still stirring after all these months, convinced me that I’m too declarative. More importantly, I learned that gentle sway and inspiration, while fluttering softly, can linger longer than bluster. To anyone who predicts a slip in Japan’s global influence I say, some ingredients make a cake rise rather than fall.