"A smile is the most important thing in non-verbal communication," the 'manner trainer' told us, the manic grin she had worn since entering the room still stuck firmly on her face. I found myself wondering whether she ever stopped smiling. An image of her racing outside and screaming to the four winds, brows contorted wildly, slunk into my mind.
"And what exactly, Villar-san, makes someone 'well-presented'?"
I thought for a second and replied with what I thought was a evilly cunning riposte to her sudden public interrogation. I can only assume something got lost in translation.
As it turned out, the right answers were an ironed shirt and brushed hair.
Every February, the Democratic Party of Japan (DPJ) runs an internship programme, exposing young politicians-in-the-making to the policy process and everyday parliamentary life. This, the first in a set of lectures, was designed to tell interns what they should wear, what they should say and, most importantly of all, how to smile (note: smiling is learned through repetition of the word 'happy' in Japanese pronounciation, ad infinitum). Some elements, such as a refresher on Japanese polite-speech, were genuinely helpful, yet I couldn't help feeling the thought-police were getting a bit too carried away with protocol.
The room was filled with identically attired young men and women. For the men: Black suit, white shirt, nondescript tie, black shoes and black socks. For the women: Black trouser suit or skirt, white blouse, black socks and black not-too-high-heeled shoes. This was political boot-camp, and I was very, very out of place. I'd thought it was going to be a relaxing day so I'd dropped my pin-stripes at the dry-cleaners and my shoes were being re-soled, but as the smiling trainer expanded her questioning it soon turned out that my blazer and flannels were just not the right attire.
"If you're wearing black shoes, make sure they're polished and you're wearing black socks."
I looked down at my matt-brown loafers and red woolen socks. That was a definite miss.
"And to the men: make sure you're tie and shirt buttons are done-up."
I fiddled the buttons of my pink shirt closed and tried unsuccessfully to make the wisp of pale-blue cravat seem more tie-like. My Japanese sartorial score was a definite nil points.
Of course, politeness and attire are essentially important in the workplace. In the UK, it is generally expected you pick these things up at home, at University or by gradual osmosis, and, to be certain, this does not always work. British professional life is neither as polite nor well-mannered as the Japanese. A quick 'manner' lesson could be very useful for young graduates or newly hired shop-assistants entering the workforce.
However, the hordes of black-suited workers do not exactly encourage originality. If to differ is to be wrong, creativity is sure to take a knock. You can see the same reliance on unwritten conformity in Diet sessions or in committees. It is a problem that plagues the Japanese political world.
Those rare opposition politicians who do go on the offensive and attempt to really hammer home questions, such as ex-Liberal Democratic Party (LDP) politician Tanaka Makiko, are seen as rogue forces. Yet, going it alone has worked - former Prime Minister Junichiro Koizumi's single-handed Postal Reform drive is a perfect example - and Japanese politics may benefit from a bit more assertive, and original, adversarial debate. However, if you spend any amount of time on the bylines of parliamentary 'debate', you quickly realize that Japanese politics is not set up to favor the brave. It is a shame because it makes discussion dry and tediously unoriginal; and a shame because the people of Japan, especially those who voted for the opposition, are denied real scrutinizing democratic representation.
R J F Villar
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