FLUENT, BUT ILLITERATE

Japanese people usually assume that because I speak Japanese – more or less fluently (and sometimes noticeably less than more) – I must also be able to read it. After all, there are "only" 2,135 daily-use kanji characters. Out of roughly 50,000 in total. So surely, after 29 years in Japan, I should have picked them up by now. Plenty of time, right? One per week and I’d have finished the lot before my hairline started its slow, steady retreat.

The harsh reality, however, is this: I am more or less illiterate.

To be fair, I did make an honest attempt once. Back when I was actively studying Japanese, I learned close to 200 kanji characters. Whether my brain has retained all of them is… debatable. Let’s just say the retention rate is not something I’d like audited.

In practical terms, this means that any Japanese second-grader is already operating at a higher reading level than I am. A humbling thought – especially when that second-grader is politely explaining to me which button to press.

So how bad is it, really?

Well…

• Reading street signs? To some extent, yes.

• Recognising buttons on the TV remote? A few of them. Mostly by muscle memory.

• Reading a newspaper or a book? Absolutely not.

• Legal documents? Don’t be ridiculous.

Which brings us neatly to television.

Now, you might think that if the printed word is largely off-limits to me, TV would be my natural refuge. Moving pictures, spoken language – what could possibly go wrong?

Everything. Everything could go wrong.

Because Japanese TV screens are not just showing images. They are drowned in text. Subtitles, captions, sound effects, commentary, explanations, emphasis, reactions – often all at the same time. It’s like someone spilled a box of kanji over the screen and thought, “Yes. This feels about right.”

Watching Japanese TV as a semi-literate foreigner is a bit like going to the opera with binoculars – and discovering they’re pointed at the wrong stage.

Why all the text? According to a former Japanese TV director, there are three main reasons.

1. Please Don’t Touch That Remote

Back in the 1980s, Japanese households embraced the TV remote control. Suddenly, viewers could change channels during commercials. A terrifying development for broadcasters and sponsors alike.

The solution? Visual overload.

By filling the screen with colourful captions, sound effects, and enthusiastic on-screen comments, broadcasters hoped to keep viewers visually engaged – even when nothing particularly interesting was happening. And it worked. Once introduced, the text never left.

To this day, Japanese TV seems to operate on the principle that silence and empty space are dangerous.

2. Japanese Is… Complicated

Japanese is rich in homophones – words that sound exactly the same but mean wildly different things. For example, the sound kōshō can have dozens of different meanings, depending on the kanji used.

Even native speakers can sometimes struggle to know which meaning is intended just by hearing it. So the kanji pops up on screen to remove all doubt.

Add to that:

• fast speech

• regional pitch accents

• comedians talking over each other

…and suddenly, captions aren’t just helpful – they’re essential.

Unless, of course, you can’t read them.

3. Everyone Must Be Included

Japanese TV is designed for everyone.

A large portion of the audience is elderly, many with hearing difficulties. Big, bold captions help enormously. At the same time, younger viewers increasingly watch TV clips on their phones during commutes – often on mute. For them, the text acts as subtitles.

It’s thoughtful. Inclusive. Sensible.

And for me? A wall of unreadable information attacking my eyeballs from all sides.

The year-end holidays at my in-laws’ place are pretty much the only time I watch Japanese TV, which probably says a lot. Still, it’s a fascinating window into Japanese media culture.

I’ll be sitting there, nodding along confidently, catching maybe 70% of what’s being said – while the screen loudly screams the remaining 30% at me in kanji I cannot decipher.

So yes, after nearly three decades in Japan, I can hold a conversation, argue politely, make jokes, and complain about the weather like a local.

Japanese TV, however, remains my nemesis: a brightly coloured reminder that fluency and literacy are very different achievements.

So if you ever see me staring intently at a television screen during the holidays, looking thoughtful and engaged, rest assured – I’m not reading the captions.

I’m just waiting for the pictures to explain everything.