Japan’s Hands-Off “Hidden Culture” of Stillness

The Hidden and the Quiet

Japan today is an increasingly multicultural society, home to people from many nations, walks of life, and cultural backgrounds—including, of course, many Arabs and Muslims. It is also, naturally, a place where we encounter a broader variety of cultures and behaviors, rooted in the different backgrounds those people have, as we go about our daily affairs. In the past, “intercultural exchange” was something of a buzzword applied to experiences available only to a few; today, by comparison, it is far more common and available to us all.

Amid this change in Japan—and in the face of broader international trends, like intractable confrontations rooted in misunderstandings, prejudices, stereotypes, and other obstacles to clear communication—we see growing attention focused on the concept of “hidden culture.”

Anyone who has enjoyed a performance of a traditional Japanese performing arts like kabuki, nō, or rakugo will likely have noticed a particular trait native to the nation’s culture—the concept of ma (間). The quiet spaces between action or dialogue can convey much that is central to a narrative in these traditional art forms. And outside of art, in daily life, Japanese often draw on this, maintaining a certain stillness at times, imbuing it with significance as part of their conversations or their behavior in interpersonal relationships.

The term ma, as used in Japanese, signifies a space, or interval, in time or between places. Many have pointed out that the Japanese tend to bring this sort of concept of empty zones in time or space into their dealings with people as well, producing a strong sense of distance between one another. It feels similar to the way one might classify “stillness” as a facet of “motion,” or “nothingness” as one facet of “existence.”

Sitting on the Sidelines?

Indeed, the same can be said of Japanese politics. Whether domestic or international in nature, many major events are greeted by little more than quiet observation on the part of Japan’s policymakers. In recent years we have seen this take place following major conflicts around the world, like that in Afghanistan or the ongoing Israel-Hamas clash in Gaza; often, the only official Japanese response seems to be silent watchfulness.

On the global stage, the classic Japanese approach is to stand back, without leaping immediately into action, watching to see what other countries do and which way the winds of public opinion are blowing, finally taking steps (after an appropriate ma) that match the general flow. Domestically, meanwhile, a politician’s gaffe or a corporate scandal is seen as an ideal time to sit and wait, watching how the situation unfolds. Prime Minister Kishida Fumio, too, is prone to trot out platitudes like “it’s my job to protect the lives and well-being of the people of Japan” while keeping quiet watch on the events unfolding around him. Here we see no drive to be the mover of change in the world; he seems to think it better to sit back and see how the world moves on its own, rather than make some clumsy attempt at guiding it that would result only in his having to take responsibility for it.

Those who communicate in the Japanese language tend to avoid overtly logical approaches in their arguments. Politicians overseas, such as those in the Arab world, will deploy skilled persuasive techniques to gain the support of others; their Japanese counterparts, though, seem to lack this eloquence, relying instead on appeals to emotion when their lack of verbal dexterity comes to the fore. Viewing this from a different angle, we might say that they view ideology as less important than the human connection—perhaps a reflection of their tendency to value more “natural” ways of thinking.

(Originally published in Japanese. Banner photo: A mendicant priest watches the crowds in front of a temple. © Pixta.)