All Nippon Airways

“Jim-san, I have a favor to ask for you,” said Fukuhara-san. “A business partner of Itochu, ANA, has asked us to make a presentation to some of their executives visiting the U.S. They will be in San Francisco in two weeks. We would like you to talk to them about recent events in Silicon Valley and the U.S.”

ANA: All Nippon Airways. I enjoyed their flights over the Pacific, recalling the excellent service. “Okay. What exactly are they interested in?”

“Anything you would like to tell them. These are not very technical people. They just want to know about general trends. You can decide whatever to tell them.”

ANA was not our usual network equipment partner. I expected Itochu had relationships with all the major airlines. Itochu Finance did a lot of equipment financing, or maybe it was Itochu Aerospace. Anyway, it seemed everybody was connected to everybody in Japan — except of course to the direct competitors of your best customers, as CTC had explained to me. Even then, maybe they were still had back channels.

I decided to have some fun with this one. If I had to present, I may as well be creative about it. This wasn’t a crowd that was going to call me on technical details. They would want to hear my views in layman terms.

How could I simplify all that was transpiring in the Internet and technology spaces in one, easy-to-understand lecture? Not too many slides; use them as talking points; use analogies; and KISS – keep it simple (stupid).

Several of the key ideas or topic keywords started with a “C.” Could I make them all start with a C? I began.

On the appointed day, I found the hotel in San Francisco where my “students” would be waiting. I entered and introduced myself to the head man, Ueno-san. Looking around, I saw some older gents but many younger ones. Engineers? Probably just general businessmen. I set up my PC for the presentation.

“First, let me ask you: how is your English?” This was an unusual beginning, but I needed to know how much to dumb-down my vocabulary. If my goal were communication, I may as well not be saying things no one would understand. By the shy grins and silence, I gathered their English was more from school than active dialog. “Okay, then I will go slowly. Ask me if something is not clear.” Fat chance of that.

I began by introducing myself and Itochu’s activities in the U.S. Then I turned to my first slide on the evolution of computing, from accounting-oriented mainframes to mobile devices. Keeping things at a high level, I went through trends of the past few years, adding distinctions between the U.S. and Japan.

In the last slide, I summarized by projecting the impact of the Internet era into the Seven C’s, as I called them: Connection, Communication, cooperation, Competition, Commerce, Coordination, and finally — just for good measure and creativity — Conception/Art.

Yes, the connectivity offered by the Internet did increase all those “C-level” activities, but I was curious about how people would collaborate to create bright, new things: artistic creations, global collaborative works that had nothing to do with business or profit, connections with people sharing their lives — not just their products. We really were on the verge of great possibilities.

Some understood me; others were floundering. I opened it up for questions. Expecting the silence and knowing they had questions, I tried to hit them an easy grounder.

“Many people ask why this activity happens in Silicon Valley and not so much elsewhere. ‘Why doesn’t this happen in Japan?’ you might be thinking. Let me try to explain in another way.

“Last weekend my wife and I went to Monterey. It was beautiful along the beaches, but a recent storm washed much kelp up on the beaches. This kelp was rotting on the shore and smelled very bad.

“For the eco-system, the ocean environment, to grow in its cycle, this kelp must break down into small particles. It must recycle itself to become nutrient, to become food for the other things growing in the ocean. The dead kelp has a very important role to play to keep the ocean healthy.”

I scanned the faces in front of me and saw the unmistakable look of confusion. Still, if I could hold them a little longer … .

“In Silicon Valley, there is much of this recycling food to make the economy grow, to keep it healthy. Companies form; many fail. Engineers and business managers get laid off. At first, this looks bad — like the rotting kelp. But they are now loose to go join other new companies, to help them grow. In this Silicon Valley fluid …” okay, not fluid, not plasma for sure, KISS, “in this water, there is a general pool of things necessary for growth: investment capital, business expertise, engineering and production capability, all loose and ready to combine into some new form of business life.”

The looks on their faces suggested an earnest struggle to understand. So maybe this wasn’t one of my best metaphors; time to talk about Japan.

“In Japan, with things like lifetime employment and the prestige, the famousness of big, established companies, engineers join one company after college and do not move. They are not free to join new startups. Investors are risk-averse, very conservative, and do not commit capital to new ventures. Managers stay in big companies for reputation, benefits, retirement and other reasons. Even potential customers and partners do not wish to do business with new or young companies. That almost guarantees failure.”

Some eyes seemed to get the analogy. Others were at least thinking hard about it. Well, that was about as good as I was gonna get. I wrapped it up.

I didn’t expect that dinner was part of the program but my hosts insisted I join them. This I was happy to do. One of the benefits of doing business with Japanese companies was the excellent and expensive Japanese food. The other was the people; this crowd was looking to be as generous and good-natured as any Japanese I had met.

It was a comfortable group of six. Ueno-san seemed always to have a smile on his face or at least a hint of one. “Kampai!” he toasted. We all drank, filling each other’s empty glasses with good cheer.

I was talking with one young man about the problematic view of failure in Japan. “How can you learn if you can never afford to fail?” I pondered. “You can’t be perfect at something without practice.”

“Yes!” he said enthusiastically. “If you fail, it’s over!” We talked about the scarcity of second chances.

I pondered aloud the strange irony of the ‘corner office,’ the place of isolation to which a shamed manager is sent. “In the U.S., the best managers get the corner office. It has the best views – two sides of windows. In Japan, everyone pities you. How is that for two different viewpoints?” That engendered a round of sympathetic laughter.

“Tell me Jim-san,” my new friend continued: “what would your parents tell you in America if you did something very good, like getting a good grade on a test?”

“Good work!” I suggested.

“Ha! In Japan, parents would say, ‘Should have been better.’” He shook his head. I could see this was very personal for him – and painful.

What a dismal upbringing, I thought. Could a child never get a word of encouragement from those who loved him the most? From those whom he loved the most? Tough childhood.

Actually, with long workdays, weekend work or group activity, and a hammer over your head for failure, life in Japan looked tough all the way through! Maybe it was okay when someone finally reached retirement. Maybe not even then.

At 55 – ten years earlier than in the U.S. – a retired person still had the energy to do many things. I envisioned travel, gardening, bouncing grandkids on his knee. Yet there was another interpretation. Stripped of the power, authority and expense accounts one had while working, would a Japanese manager feel lost? Retirement was a challenge in all cultures; suddenly I was glad to be taking my chances with it in America.

Clearly I could not conclude that life in Japan was always hard. There was something I was not seeing. Hmm, the suicide rate? Stop it, I scolded myself. I was looking at a culture with the naivete of a stupid foreigner. I just didn’t know where the Japanese got their greatest rewards, what they valued the most.

Probably they shared the common things we all enjoyed: the gift of love, the warmth of family, the meaning of children — also the pride in creation and contribution. They certainly had shown me a common spirit in their sense of humor, their good-natured attitude – and all this while under the yoke of a stern, patriarchal society. Given that environment, they seemed to be bearing up pretty well.

But yeah, I’d pass on any assignment in Tokyo.