The Power of Predictability in Japan

In my last LinkedIn piece, "Why I’m Leaving Japan," I revealed that health issues have led me to decide to return to the United States. Many have asked how I feel about this decision, and my answer is obvious and simple: I’m sad.

Leaving a country and culture one loves is never easy. What I will miss most is traditional Japan—its deep-rooted culture, culinary specialties, diligent work ethic, social civility, cohesive stability, and, perhaps surprisingly, its predictability. Predictability is the focus of this piece. It doesn’t get enough attention. That is not to say I love everything predictable here, but compared to where I am going, I have a renewed appreciation for it.

The older I get, the more I appreciate knowing how most interactions with Japanese people will unfold. It puts everyone at ease. I’m not just talking about the predictable responses when meeting someone for the first time, such as "How do you do?" which elicits the standard "My name is (family name), and it’s a pleasure to meet you." Let's go deeper into the abyss.

Ambiguous answers to difficult questions are easy to anticipate. Responses like "That’s difficult," "Hmmmm," or "What do you think?" are common. While these replies may not be progress-driven, at least they signal my need to reframe questions in ways that lead toward solutions. That predictability promotes strategic phrasing, which has served me well over the years.

Predictability isn’t always efficient, but it has its advantages. It removes a certain level of uncertainty, which, as a crisis manager, has often proved beneficial. Even so, predictable outcomes are never absolute. Many Japanese struggle in unpredictable situations. In fact, it is safe to say that the vast majority of Japanese perform at their worst in crises, which are, by nature, unpredictable.

Take the Fukushima disaster, for example. While it was predictable that a 9.0-magnitude earthquake would generate a massive tsunami, few were prepared for it—least of all Tokyo Electric Power Company (TEPCO). Despite historical evidence of similar disasters in the exact same location, TEPCO not only ignored such evidence but also built a nuclear plant right near an earthquake fault. Brilliant, right? To make matters worse, backup generators were installed in the basements of each plant, where flooding rendered them useless, exacerbating the catastrophe. I guess it was predictable that engineers are not geologists and don’t interact beyond their silos. In hindsight, it was also predictable that TEPCO would prioritize business profits over prudent risk assessment. "Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead." Even so, it is clear that Japan is not alone when it comes to prioritizing relationships over institutional preservation.

Predictability has its frustrations. A recent trip to the post office illustrated this once again for me. To ensure accuracy, I usually ask postal clerks to fill out necessary forms in perfect Japanese rather than struggle to read my illegible kanji. On this occasion, I asked a clerk to complete my change-of-address form. "You can write it yourself, and if there's a problem, I will correct it," she replied. "But wouldn’t it be faster if you wrote it correctly the first time?" I asked. "Please fill it out yourself," she repeated, handing me the form. "A" for persistence.

Moments later, as predicted, I had made several mistakes, which she subsequently corrected. What she had failed to mention at the outset was that postal regulations require the affected person fill out the form personally before assistance can be provided—an invisible rule not articulated. Instead of stating this rule directly from the beginning, she simply insisted I complete it myself. After 40 years in Japan, I should have been better prepared for her indirect messaging and read between the lines. I failed and proved to myself once again that even after four decades here, it’s the small things that drive me mad. Totally predictable. I won’t miss that sort of thing once I leave.

As we can see, Japan’s predictability is generally a strength but not without limitations. Unpredictability has its own challenges, too. I know I’ll face constant unpredictability once back in the U.S. For instance, I am accustomed to Japanese airlines departing on time—unlike in America. I’m used to excellent service without tipping, whereas in the U.S., even a Starbucks barista expects a gratuity. God help me.

Frankly, I am not sure I’m prepared for the sheer level of unpredictability of modern-day America—Trump aside. No one is ready for that. To maintain my sanity, I must learn to embrace uncertainty and accept that unpredictability will become my new normal. Perhaps that is the ideal mindset for a crisis manager anyway.

Interestingly, we know that some predictability spans both cultures. In Japan and the U.S. these days, young people are glued to their smartphones, blindly navigating sidewalks and crowded public spaces, expecting others to move aside as they watch mindless TikTok videos. That is predictable, but I never move out of their way. I suppose I should take comfort in that familiarity—but I’m not quite there yet.