THE ART OF ACCIDENTAL AGREEMENT

The other day at the supermarket, I found myself in a situation that has become increasingly common ever since shops stopped automatically giving you plastic bags and instead ask whether you would like to purchase one.

All for the environment, of course.

And, conveniently, a little extra income.

Shop assistant:

‘Fukuro wa go-riyō ni narimasu ka?’ Would you like a bag?

Me:

‘Daijōbu desu.’ I’m OK.

Shop assistant:

‘Kashikomarimashita.’ Certainly.

The shop assistant takes out a bag and scans it.

Me:

‘Ah, fukuro irimasen.’ Ah, I don’t need a bag.

Shop assistant:

‘Ah, shitsurei itashimashita. Fukuro nashi desu ne.’ Oh, my apologies – no bag then.

What happened?

Well, daijōbu desu can mean:

It’s OK.

No problem.

Go ahead.

I’m fine.

That’s alright.

I can manage.

No thanks.

Please stop immediately.

We should never speak of this again.

Which means that my perfectly reasonable answer had accidentally communicated:

'Yes, thank you.'

They perhaps could have thought this through a little more carefully when creating the language.

When I first moved to Japan, I believed language learning would mostly involve vocabulary.

Learn enough words and eventually you understand people.

This turned out to be optimistic.

Prime example: Daijōbu desu.

Two words.

Four syllables.

Approximately fourteen meanings.

Context does a remarkable amount of heavy lifting.

Naturally, this creates opportunities.

Early on, I occasionally responded with daijōbu desu while having absolutely no idea what I was agreeing or disagreeing to.

Sometimes I received fewer things than expected.

Sometimes more.

This phenomenon extends well beyond daijōbu.

Take:

Chotto…

Literally: A little.

Actual meaning: Absolutely not.

For example:

‘Are you going to attend the meeting?’

‘Ah… chotto…’

Congratulations.

You have just been rejected with impressive politeness.

Then there is:

Kekkō desu.

It can be used to

• decline an offer

• stopping a service

• accept an offer

It's quite formal and direct, and it can sometimes sound cold. So, if you want a softer, friendlier 'I'm okay, no thanks,' it might be safer to use daijōbu desu.

Which takes us straight back to square one.

Language learning is exciting.

And then there is the king of ambiguity. The expression that causes countless misunderstandings during international business meetings:

Hai.

You would assume hai means:

'Yes.'

This is occasionally true.

But very often it simply means:

'I heard the sounds coming from your mouth.'

These are not identical concepts.

Picture a two-hour meeting where a Western delegation enthusiastically pitches a product to their Japanese counterparts.

Throughout the meeting there will be many hai.

Lots of nodding.

More hai.

Even more nodding.

The Western team leaves believing the contract is practically signed.

After all, everybody agreed.

Right?

Wrong.

What the Japanese side confirmed was:

'We understand what you are saying.'

Whether they agree is an entirely separate conversation.

This ambiguity is not accidental.

Japanese conversation often prioritises harmony, indirectness, and avoiding unnecessary confrontation.

Swiss communication operates somewhat differently.

If a Swiss person says yes, they generally mean yes.

If they say no, they mean no.

If they are uncertain, they organise a national referendum.

After many years in Japan, I have learnt to appreciate daijōbu desu.

It's efficient.

Flexible.

Elegant.

Why use six different expressions when two words can cover an entire emotional spectrum?

That said, every now and then someone asks me something quickly, I panic, reply daijōbu desu, and spend the next twenty minutes trying to work out what exactly I just agreed to.

Fortunately, this usually turns out to be daijōbu.