Japanese language is not a skill. It is infrastructure.
道路や水道、電気が、人の生活を支えるように。
言葉もまた、人が社会の中で働き、暮らし、誰かとつながるための基盤なのだと思う。
変わる必要があるのは、外国人だけではない
しかし、これは「外国人がもっと日本語を勉強すればいい」という話ではない。
受け入れる側にも、問いがある。
分からないと言える職場だろうか。
質問したときに、嫌な顔をされないだろうか。
拙い日本語でも、最後まで話を聞いてもらえるだろうか。
日本人側も、相手に伝わる言葉を使おうとしているだろうか。
異なる文化や習慣を、
「日本ではこうだから」
の一言で終わらせてはいないだろうか。
私たちが「日本語の問題」だと思っているものの中には、実は組織の問題が隠れているのかもしれない。
子どもたちから教えてもらったこと
私は長く、教育の世界で子どもたちと向き合ってきた。
そこで教えてもらったことがある。
人は、安心できる場所でこそ、間違えることができる。
そして、
間違えることができる場所でこそ、学ぶことができる。
これは、子どもだけの話ではないと思う。
外国人が日本語を学ぶときも、新しい職場で仕事を覚えるときも、同じではないだろうか。
どれほど日本語を教えても、
「間違えたら笑われる」
「質問したら迷惑をかける」
「こんなことを言ったら怒られる」
と思う環境では、人は言葉を使えなくなっていく。
だから、言葉を教えることと、言葉を使える環境をつくることは、本来、切り離してはいけない。
Language. Workplace. Community.
必要なのは、日本語教育だけではない。
人事制度だけでもない。
そして、外国人本人の努力だけでもない。
私は、
Language. Workplace. Community.
この三つを、一つの環境として考える必要があると思っている。
言葉。
職場。
そして、その人が暮らす地域社会。
人が日本へ来て、働き、暮らし、
「ここでやっていける」
と思える環境そのものを設計する。
これから日本が、より多くの外国人とともに働き、ともに暮らす社会になっていくのなら、
「外国人をどう日本社会に適応させるか」
だけではなく、
「私たちは、どんな社会を一緒につくるのか」
という問いが必要になる。
受け入れる側も変わる。
企業も変わる。
地域も変わる。
その間をつなぐインフラの一つが、言葉なのだと思う。
「なんとかしたい」から始まった
あのネパールの青年が、その後どうしているのか、私は知らない。
ネパールへ帰ったのか。
日本のどこかで働いているのか。
あの夜話してくれた、
「両親に家を建てたい」
という夢に、今も向かっているのか。
分からない。
でも、彼との出会いは、私の中に一つの問いを残した。
志を持って日本へ来た人が、その志を失わずに働き続けられる社会を、どうすればつくれるのだろう。
私はまだ、その答えを持っていない。
だから、現場へ行きたい。
人に会いたい。
日本語を教えたい。
企業と話したい。
沖縄から日本へ。 日本からASEANへ。
そして、考え続けたい。
文化や習慣、言葉の違いによって生まれる距離を、誰かが埋めなければならない。
あの日、私の中に生まれたのは、もっと単純な感情だった。
「なんとかしたい。」
その小さな衝動が、
いま、私がこれから歩こうとしている道につながっている。
答えは、まだ完成していない。
だからこそ、経験し、問いを持ち、それを言葉にしていきたい。
Experience becomes philosophy when we give it words.
NAOKI JOURNALは、その問いの続きを書く場所でありたい。
One evening, at a place I often visit, I met a young man from Nepal.
He had come to Japan for work and was there with his Japanese supervisor. The owner introduced us, and we began talking in a mixture of English and his still-developing Japanese.
At first, it was just casual conversation.
But as we talked, I became increasingly interested in his story.
He told me about the beautiful nature of Nepal.
About the food he missed from home.
About his life in Japan.
Then, after a while, he told me about his dream.
“In two years, I want to go back to Nepal with the money I’ve saved in Japan and build a house for my parents.”
I still remember the expression on his face.
He had traveled far from home to work in another country, save money, and create a better future for his family.
It was a simple dream.
And a deeply human one.
Was anyone really hearing him?
There was something else I noticed that evening.
The relationship between him and his Japanese supervisor.
I want to be careful here.
I saw them together for only a few hours. I knew nothing about their company, their workplace, or what their relationship was like on an ordinary day.
But there were moments when the young man would say something and I felt that his words were not fully received.
They seemed to pass by without being given much weight.
There was a distance between them.
Supervisor and employee.
Japanese and foreign worker.
Someone who could speak Japanese freely and someone who could not yet fully express himself in the language.
It felt like more than a language gap.
About a month later, I heard something unexpected from the owner of the restaurant.
“That young man stopped showing up for work.”
He had disappeared from the workplace.
I do not know what happened.
I do not know whether it was because of his relationships at work.
Whether it was the language.
Whether it was the job itself.
Or whether there were circumstances I knew nothing about.
I cannot—and should not—pretend to know the reason.
But when I heard the news, I remembered his smile that evening.
And I found myself wondering:
The young man who had spoken so openly with me about Nepal, his family, and his dream—
how much of himself had he been able to express at work?
When he was struggling, could he say:
“I need help”?
When he did not understand something, could he say:
“I don’t understand”?
And if he did—
was anyone really listening?
Is Japanese really just a “skill”?
When foreign workers come to Japan, Japanese-language ability is often measured as a skill.
Do they have JLPT N3?
N2?
Can they handle everyday conversation?
Can they understand workplace instructions?
Of course, these things matter.
But I have come to believe they are not enough.
Japanese is not only a language for passing an exam.
It is the language someone needs to ask for help.
To explain an idea.
To explain what happened after making a mistake.
To laugh with a colleague.
To tell someone about a dream.
And sometimes, it is the language someone needs in order to say:
“I can’t do this anymore.”
That is why I hesitate to think of Japanese simply as a skill.
Japanese language is not a skill.
It is infrastructure.
Roads, water systems, and electricity allow people to live and participate in society.
Language, in a different way, does the same.
It allows a person to work, live, communicate, and build relationships within a community.
Foreign workers are not the only ones who need to change
This is not an argument that foreign workers simply need to study harder.
There is another side to the question.
What kind of workplace are we asking them to enter?
Can someone safely say, “I don’t understand”?
Can they ask a question without feeling that they are causing trouble?
Will someone listen patiently even when their Japanese is imperfect?
Are Japanese colleagues also making an effort to communicate in ways that are easier to understand?
When cultural differences appear, do we try to understand them?
Or do we simply say:
“This is how we do things in Japan.”
Some problems that appear to be language problems may actually be organizational problems.
What children taught me
I spent many years working in education and learning alongside children.
They taught me something important.
People can make mistakes when they feel safe enough to make them.
And people can truly learn when they are allowed to make mistakes.
I do not think this principle belongs only to childhood education.
It matters when an adult is learning Japanese.
It matters when someone is learning a new job.
It matters when a person is trying to build a life in a country that is not their own.
You can teach someone vocabulary and grammar.
But if they are constantly thinking,
“What if people laugh when I make a mistake?”
“What if asking a question annoys my supervisor?”
“What if I say the wrong thing?”
then knowing the language and being able to use the language become two very different things.
Teaching language and creating an environment where language can actually be used should never be separated.
Language. Workplace. Community.
Japanese-language education alone is not enough.
HR systems alone are not enough.
And the effort of foreign workers alone is not enough.
I increasingly think we need to design three things together:
Language.
Workplace.
Community.
The language people use.
The organizations in which they work.
And the communities in which they live.
The real question is how we create an environment where someone can arrive in Japan, work, live, learn, and eventually feel:
“I can build a life here.”
As Japan becomes a society in which more people from different countries live and work together, the question cannot only be:
“How do we help foreigners adapt to Japan?”
We also need to ask:
“What kind of society are we going to build together?”
Foreign workers will change and grow.
But companies must also change.
Communities must also change.
And language can become part of the infrastructure connecting them.
It began with a simple thought: “I want to do something.”
I do not know where that young man from Nepal is today.
Perhaps he returned home.
Perhaps he is working somewhere else in Japan.
Perhaps he is still pursuing the dream he told me about that night:
building a house for his parents.
I hope so.
But meeting him left me with a question that has stayed with me.
How can we create a society where people who come to Japan with hope can continue working without losing that hope?
I do not have the complete answer.
That is why I want to go to the places where these questions actually exist.
Into classrooms.
Into companies.
Into communities.
I want to meet people.
I want to teach Japanese.
I want to listen to employers.
I want to understand what happens between policy and reality.
From Okinawa to the rest of Japan.
From Japan to ASEAN.
And back again.
Because somewhere between differences in language, culture, workplace expectations, and everyday life, there is a gap that needs to be bridged.
When I first heard that the young man had disappeared from his workplace, I did not have a grand theory.
I had a much simpler thought.
I want to do something.
That small feeling has gradually become connected to the path I now want to walk.
I do not have all the answers yet.
Perhaps that is exactly why I need to keep going into the field, asking questions, and putting what I learn into words.
Experience becomes philosophy
when we give it words.
NAOKI JOURNAL is where I want to continue that inquiry.
