The most interesting thing was that two officers refused to follow orders and locked themselves up in the officers' quarters. Strictly speaking, in an army, we may call this insubordination. When asked the reason for their resistance, they replied, "This order goes against the principles of American democracy. Whether we are the occupation forces or not, the war is over. Therefore, we refuse to comply." The incident taught me just how highly the Americans regard the self and how respect for the self is intimately related to the development of American democracy.
Returning to our former topic: After Sergeant Uemura was stripped of his rank and driven out of the armed forces, he fled to Manchuria and became a police officer. (In prewar Japan, military or military-related personnel who made some blunder or fell from favor were often sent to Manchuria.) After several years, Lieutenant Takahashi also went to Manchuria and visited his previous subordinate, Uemura. Of course, we have no way of knowing what they said to each other or how they rekindled old memories, but this certainly stands as an example of the way the relationship between Japanese officers and their men continues forever.
Sergeant Uemura joined the rebel forces by the order of his commander, but at the same time he was strongly urged to remain loyal to the main force by his former commander. Uemura listened to Takahashi's plea with all the deference that a subordinate should accord to his superior. But it had already reached the point of being "too late," and despite Takahashi's informal order, Uemura was obliged to follow the direct orders of his commander at the time. Thus it is apparent that he had two bosses.
In like manner, most Japanese have two or more supervisors (direct and indirect) within the same organization. Everyone has a boss immediately above him, who has direct control over him; at the same time, an employee retains a strong tie with his previous supervisors and feels that he is still subordinate to them and must listen to and accept their advice. This is a hallmark of Japanese industrial society. Even new members of the company, if they have gotten a job through some high-ranking inside connection, will have a special feeling for the insider, regarding him as different from other department or division heads. Also, those who enter without connections will try to find a "second boss" from among their superiors and more often than not will develop their careers utilizing such a tie.
These "second bosses" are not, of course, officially recognized, but there is a general awareness of such relationships among the members of the company. Perhaps we should call the direct supervisor the "formal boss" and the indirect supervisor, whoever he may be, the "informal boss." Depending upon the nature of the particular company, and the prevailing working conditions, one or the other may have a stronger impact on any individual company member.
If I may add one further note: In the West a "boss" is the person who is directly above you in the organization and supervises your work. However, in Japan everyone above you in the pyramidal structure is called your joshi (superior). Not every joshi has real supervisory power, but the joshi usually pride themselves on at least occasionally taking a supervisory position. This phenomenon shows just how easy it is for a worker to have two or more supervisors in an organization and how all members of-the higher echelons of the company play a supervisory role for all those below them.
The desire to attach oneself to two or more supervisors is a result of the vertical nature of the Japanese organization, in which commitment and loyalty take precedence over ability. Since everything is done by teamwork and individual ability and performance cannot logically be used as a means of determining promotion, the competition for vertical advancement can have its seamy side. The channels of advancement and success are more readily available to those who have the favors oijoshi. Even after retirement, the close relationship between former superior and former subordinate usually continues. This is one of the dividends of the vertical society. By the same token, having two or more supervisors in one organization further delimits the self. In precisely the same way that a young wife suffers under the domination of both her husband and her mother-in-law, the worker in an organization often finds himself in a desperate position. The fate of Sergeant Uemura illustrates the suffering this kind of dual allegiance can produce. In order to succeed and move upward in the group, a person must be thoroughly experienced in such matters.
Each and every one of us is part of a group, and we sustain ourselves by virtue of our relationship with that group. In Japan, however, it is a matter not simply of being included in the group but of being "blended" into it. It is a custom in Japanese society that the individual should bend his back, hunch his shoulders, and efface himself as much as possible—as the language of politeness (keigo) and the bowing act represent. Egoism, or self-regard, is the most despised characteristic within a group. It is a cause for exclusion from the group and can lead to the destruction of a person's social credibility. Yet there is no one who is without egoism entirely. Knowing how to control this egoism, and when and to what extent to demonstrate it, is the essential skill for living within the group. It is comparatively more difficult to exercise egoism in Japan than in the West.
The Tortoise and the Hare
There isn't a single man, woman, or child in Japan who is not familiar with the nursery tale of the tortoise and the hare. From the first moment of awareness, every child hears his mother singing the ditty about the race between these two fabled creatures, and the tortoise's ultimate victory. Drummed into him from earliest childhood, the story and the moral it conveys become an essential part of the child's personality. What is the spirit of this children's story?
The hare, speedy and gifted as a racer, lost because he was lazy and took a nap on the way to the goal; and the tortoise, slow fellow that he was, triumphed by his persistence. "Diligence is the key!"—that is the samurai spirit and the moral this tale inculcates in every Japanese child.
The explosive modernization program instituted by the Meiji government in an effort to catch up with the West and the subsequent industrial development and militarism Japan experienced were all based on this mythic determination. The so-called "samurai employee" and the "samurai company president" (complimentary terms for hard workers) grew up listening to this nursery story about the hare and the tortoise.
Persistence is very important, and unless people put their full energies into an enterprise, be it government or industry, they have little chance of succeeding. But there is a great danger of misunderstanding inherent in this fable and its moral, "Slow and steady wins the race." The danger is the tendency to regard ability and performance as secondary assets. The idea that even a tortoise can win a foot race, if it is really determined to do so, supports the belief common among the Japanese that perseverance is more important than talent. During World War II this brave samurai spirit moved people to face the enemy machine guns with blunderbusses, and to charge with bamboo spears against bazooka fire. These examples illustrate a total disregard for ability that had tragic consequences.