A shout-out to Paulius Juodis who encouraged me to write about Japan-related topics from landscape to society in my own weird way.
Disclaimer: What will follow are not hard truths but are thoughts and opinions based on my own background and experience as a non-homogenous, organic Japanese male. If you’re allergic to or intolerant of unpasteurized thoughts like mine, proceed at your peril.
Tap-tap
For the record, my employer has never come over to me in the office and tapped on my shoulder. In the West, that would signify not much more than “I’m here for you, pal.” or “Excuse me, you dropped something.”
In contrast, that gesture in Japan has a name — kata tataki (lit. shoulder tap) — and it’s code for “We won’t fire you, but you have to kindly remove yourself at the end of the year. If you don’t, you may be transferred to our regional office in northeastern Hokkaido and share a desk with an Ussuri brown bear.”
Getting fired vs resigning
I’ve never had that experience of being told to vacate my desk. Well, not in that way. Yes, I have been fired once — ‘kay, maybe twice — as a waiter when I was a clumsy college boy. Resigning, though, is different and treated differently, not only by the tax office but also by Japanese society.
While getting fired (kubi-ni-naru, lit. get decapitated) may look bad in the West, resigning (taishoku, lit. withdraw from employment) is arguably more uncomfortable in Japan. Getting fired — not to be confused with being laid off — means a particular job didn’t suit you. It’s okay; you’ll find one that does. You earn sympathy.
Again, this is how I feel. (See disclaimer above.)
Resigning is perceived more negatively. Imagine being a samurai warlord who is engaged in a bloody regional battle. It’s neck and neck, head and headless. Then, you suddenly call it quits, essentially forfeiting the battle. You ride your steed out into the sunset. Your top vassals follow. What about your foot soldiers and chef? The enemy will chase them and butcher the soldiers but keep the chef, of course.
So much for leadership and responsibility.
Most people would probably agree that the figurative sword to the neck is imaginably more painful than voluntarily going out the door. But not in Japan, of course. If you watch Tom Cruise’s The Last Samurai, the US television series Shogun, or any Japanese historical drama, you’ll know what I mean. Ritual seppuku — or hara-kiri (lit. disembowelment) — was considered an honourable privilege. A bestowment. Congratulations…?
So why would a co-worker’s resignation give many Japanese people the impression that the person lacks commitment or gumption? Even my ex-in-laws described me as a vagrant when I changed jobs within a period of six years. At least I wasn’t called a parasite.
Always look on the bright side of life, right?
Bright side of resigning
This topic is naturally debatable, and I will acknowledge any and all polite refutations. Here’s my affirmative statement:
Resigning from a detestable job is the best way to make your coworkers envy you.
Actually, let’s not have a debate now. I just want to walk the plank on my own accord; I am almost fantasizing about it. So, why search for a silver lining in a job that I feel no longer retains any redeeming quality besides my next miserly paycheck?
New hope gone wrong
I was a burnt-out high school teacher of 23 years looking for a way to recharge and learn something new other than recycled curricular concepts and micromanaging students.
The current job I have as a science communicator/press release writer/illustrator was expected to be the start of a promising new career in the supposedly growing industry of public information in academia. The “growing” aspect may be true at other research-focused universities outside of Japan, it doesn’t appear that way at mine. Soon, that misguided projection will be boomeranging to smack me in the head.
Innovative research is paramount where I work. Just one word short of giving away its name entirely, this famous university is one of the first established in the late 1800s by the newly reformed, post-feudal Japanese government. It even had the word Imperial pinned to its name to make it sound hallowed, which it was and still is to some degree.
In fact, this globally recognized academic institution remains among the top 40 in QS World University Rankings 2023. Early to recent Nobel laureates have risen from here.
For the sake of convenience, let’s call this world-class university Niban, which means number 2 in Japanese. It has always been number 2 in Japan, but not begrudgingly playing second fiddle to the University of Tokyo. Trailing behind a lead runner in a marathon has its strategic advantages. But does Niban even have a strategy?
My institution has forever carried the mantle of being that national university leading in progressive education and cutting-edge research, ideally unrestrained by the sociopolitical climate of the times. This academic safe-house would enjoy having its legacy protected from aggressive external forces. Yet, as an insider, I feel that this may no longer be the case for Niban.
Ironically, the threat does not come from the outside. It is eating itself up from within. That is institutional autophagy for all you biology nerds like me. Of course, I know it happens everywhere. Niban is no different. The bureaucratic mindset is a scourge, a type of cancer for which no known effective therapy currently exists.
How does that affect me? A lot. Call it trickle-down disenfranchisement. HR here has lost any sense of why their department is called human resources. Middle management who are concerned only about watching their backs and making decisions that add up to mere selfish consensus-seeking tactics. Hence, such spinelessness breeds contempt, and the original mission of the institution sits in decay and along with it any remaining hope I had about my new career.
Walking the plank
Imagine for me again a fictional character like Jack Sparrow, sentenced to jump off a ship to his supposed doom. Angry swords force him onto a narrow wooden beam jutting out from the port side.
The plank represents my soul connection with Japan itself.
If I jump off, I’m basically cutting my thorny emotional ties with this country that gave me my name and ethnic identity. As I alluded to earlier, I am actually eager to step onto that plank even without the need for imaginary pirates to threaten me with their flimsy plastic swords. These pirates are an analogy of sociocultural factors with which I have failed to reconcile. These are the very annoying, prickly vines that have retarded my personal development and impeded my growth mindset.
Is it finally time for self-care and jump off? Or shall I stay on the ship and continue partying unhappily with the pirates?
Conclusion
Walking the plank and resigning are two sides of the same coin. No matter how you toss it, the result is the same. I’m leaning towards diving headfirst into the waters below, which might be murky and crocodile-infested. But that will be the price to pay for my freedom and sanity. Watch me jump.
Can I keep my Kyoto-made sandals on though?
Sources:
Full version of the Monty Python scene. https://youtu.be/DahB8YfRqOA
