I recently returned from a two-week vacation in Japan, spending most of my time in Tokyo. I’ve visited a few times before, but those were primarily business trips, allowing only a few days of exploration time.
Coincidentally, I read a book titled The Common Good by Robert Reich, author and public policy expert who has served in three US administrations. It’s not a book about socialism, nor does it espouse a particularly progressive worldview. It’s about shifts in our values, emphasizing perhaps the last 40 or 50 years; timely because these shifts seem to be reaching critical mass. Of the book’s many intertwined themes, I’ll focus on two sides of a coin: honor and shame.
Did the book prompt new and enlightening ways of seeing Tokyo? Or did Tokyo clarify the themes in the book in a way that couldn’t happen in America? Either way, the timing was serendipitous.
In Tokyo, I was newly amazed at the order, cleanliness, friendliness, and respect that permeates the bit of culture that I witnessed; this should come as no surprise to those who’ve visited. The city is an orchestrated chaos driven by a symbiotic set of behavioral norms, making daily life in such a crowded, busy city seem unusually calm, even pleasurable.
I’ll offer these specific observations: nobody cuts in line; everyone stands to the left on an escalator so others can pass on the right; people queue to board subway trains and buses according to clearly marked instructions, waiting for passengers to get off first; recyclables are meticulously sorted into eight (I looked it up) categories and carefully placed at the curb; giving way (“Please go ahead.” “No, you please go first!”) is a competitive sport (“dozo” is the Japanese word for it); there is virtually no litter despite the lack of public trash cans, and public restrooms – in subways and malls – are spotless, even luxurious.
Orderly queuing for the subway; recycling must be sorted and placed in "official" clear plastic bags to ensure compliance and avoid the shame of a red sticker.
Not impressed? People don’t always lock their bicycles! I saw a few no smoking signs painted on the sidewalks; while Japan has a relatively high smoking rate (29% of Japanese men smoke, compared with 17% of US men), not once did I smell or see anyone smoking. If someone were to violate these rules, I’ll bet they’d be quickly, if politely, shamed. (I saw some tourists gently advised as to their behavior faux pas.) These rules, and the social attitudes behind them, are what allow Tokyo to remain so civilized. I found myself looking at these attitudes through the Common Good lens of honor and shame.
The Japanese honor those who contribute to the social good, while shaming those that detract from it. The behavioral norms I observed above might be micro-examples, and are complemented – reinforced – by more abstract values through corporate and public policies. Japanese CEOs promise not only economic returns, but include on equal footing a commitment to less-tangible societal and environmental value. Famously, Konosuke Matsushita (who guided Matsushita Electric Company to be the world’s largest manufacturer of electric goods, incorporating the brands Panasonic and Technics) defined seven guiding principles for the company, leading with “service to the public.” (Panasonic continues to use these without modification, and has translated them into an even more socially-oriented set of Core Values.) If you’ve ever remarked about the incredible customer service of Japanese companies, you’ve seen this attitude trickle down into action. You may also be familiar with stories of Japanese executives (and politicians) who let down their community of employees, customers, or constituents, apologetically resigning in public shame.
Americans have perverted the definition of honor, shifting it from those who work for the common good towards those who work against it. We honor people who game the system, those who cheat others and get away with it (“Smart!”), those who retain teams of lawyers to finesse financial loopholes and stymie legal challenges. We use their wealth as a yardstick. The rule of law has become the rule of (white) money. We honor those who debase the national conversation. Think Donald Trump, Roseanne Barr, and Pharma Bro Martin Shkreli. (Sure, two of these three are currently facing repercussions, but rest assured they – and others like them – will be back.) Some 35 years ago, the company I worked for held an annual awards retreat; it was called “Pride in Service,” honoring those who contributed most to the collective good of the company’s employees and customers. Today’s corporate awards programs tend to honor those who make the most money.
On the other side, some of us shame the “do-gooders” and “social justice warriors,” turning those phrases into curses. We even reject our own shame when we do wrong – if we’re caught.
As caught up as we are in individual “freedoms,” we may bristle at the thought of living by implicit behavioral rules and perhaps more restrictive (or prescriptive) social norms, decrying a “creeping nanny state.” Many take pride in challenging or breaking these norms simply to prove a personal independence, not unlike a rebellious child.
But when we worship at the twin altars of individualism and unfettered capitalism, when we measure success by the size of bank accounts, when we reflexively recoil from any label or phrase encompassing the word “social,” we do so at the expense of the common good.
Does the relentless pursuit of self-interest automatically benefit society, as Americans seem to believe? People like Trump and Shkreli should help answer that question. The Japanese flip the equation, believing that serving your community automatically translates to the individual’s self-interest. Could that be a better way?
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Robert Reich, in the Common Good, remains optimistic about America’s future, given a renewed emphasis on civic education and participation. It’s an engaging, approachable and relatively short read. Is Reich right? Millions hope so every day; Some of them even stand against the tide, dedicating themselves and their work to the common good. We should honor them.