1 Introduction

Sarariiman ‘salaried men’ are typically white-collar, university-educated, full-time office workers in large corporations where they can expect lifetime employment, regular promotions, and high salaries (Dasgupta 2013). In the post-World War II era, the sarariiman came to represent the central image of Japanese masculinity, although throughout the post-war era and into the twenty-first century, only a limited number of men were actually able to become such stereotypical sarariiman (Dasgupta 2013). Nonetheless, even after the collapse of Japan’s “bubble” economy and the “Lost Decade” that followed in the 1990s, when the sarariiman model met serious challenges, many people still consider the sarariiman to be the stereotypical Japanese male image (e.g., Charlebois 2014; Dasgupta 2013).

Connell (1995: 77) defines hegemonic masculinity as “the configuration of gender practice which embodies the currently accepted answer to the problem of the legitimacy of patriarchy, which guarantees (or is taken to guarantee) the dominant position of men and the subordination of women.” Dasgupta (2013: 154–155) interprets Connell’s definition as referring to “a cultural ‘ideal’ or ‘blueprint’, which exerts a powerful influence over the lives of men and women.” Given this interpretation, it makes sense that some researchers (e.g., Charlebois 2014; Dasgupta 2013) identify sarariiman as the representation of hegemonic masculinity in Japan.

In this chapter, I empirically explore how sarariiman perform masculinities during business meetings at a multinational corporation in Japan. First, I demonstrate how Japanese male employees use the first person pronouns ore and boku to display different types of masculinities. Then, I explore how their marginalization of female colleagues allows the male employees to index masculinity, as well as to establish homosocial relationships. Bearing in mind that there exist multiple masculinities (e.g., Dasgupta 2013; Kiesling 2001, 2007; SturtzSreetharan 2006a, b, 2009), this chapter addresses the following research question: How do sarariiman perform masculinities in the course of business meetings? The literature on language and gender has predominantly emphasized women’s language use (see Kiesling 2007); the present study contributes to our understanding of language and gender by shedding light on male speakers’ linguistic practices in spontaneously occurring interactions, as well as on ways of displaying masculinity in a particular community of practice.

2 Theoretical Framework

2.1 Sarariiman’s Linguistic Practices, Masculinity, and First Person Pronouns

In the scholarship on Japanese language and gender, only a very little empirical research (e.g., Occhi et al. 2010; Saito 2013; SturtzSreetharan 2004a, b, 2006a, b, 2009) has investigated how sarariiman present themselves through their language use. Analyzing naturally occurring casual conversations, SturtzSreetharan finds that sarariiman’s linguistic practices are relatively polite and gender-neutral. For instance, compared to groups of male students and retirees, sarariiman produce desu/masu forms (i.e., addressee honorifics) at high frequencies (SturtzSreetharan 2006b). Likewise, in their analysis of scripted TV drama data, Occhi et al. (2010) observe that sarariiman characters are likely to employ gender-neutral speech styles.

How then do sarariiman express their masculinity in talk? In Japanese, pronouns are gendered forms that encode femininity or masculinity (Shibamoto Smith 2004; see also SturtzSreetharan 2009). Ideologically, the use of pronouns corresponds to the speaker’s sex; men are expected to use stereotypical male pronouns (SturtzSreetharan 2009). Since “masculinity is a quality or set of practices (habitual ways of doing things) that is stereotypically connected with men” (Kiesling 2007: 655), it would be expected that sarariiman perform masculinity through their use of pronouns and other linguistic resources.

Japanese allows null anaphora, so pronouns can be omitted if they can be contextually understood (see Tsujimura 1996). When pronouns are not omitted, they may be construed as marked (Shibamoto Smith 2004). For this reason, they may carry certain pragmatic meanings. In this study, male employees only use first person pronouns. In Standard Japanese, both men and women normatively use the gender neutral first person pronouns watakushi and watashi in formal contexts. In less formal contexts, men often employ the male-speaker-associated first person pronouns boku and ore (Shibamoto Smith 2004).Footnote 1 Ore is less formal (SturtzSreetharan 2006a) and more vulgar, rude, and masculine than boku (Nakamura 2010; SturtzSreetharan 2009). Miyazaki (2004), who studies junior high school students’ use of first person pronouns, finds that in a gakkyū ‘homeroom class’ setting, ore expresses powerfulness, strength, coolness, and more masculinity, while boku conveys weakness, less masculinity, and powerlessness. Nakamura (2010), who examines men’s and women’s language in erotic spam emails, demonstrates that ore, together with other linguistic features, contributes to the construction of intimacy between a male writer and spam receivers who are presumably men. In addition, when used as yakuwarigo ‘role language’, boku is associated with wisdom (Ōta 2011).Footnote 2 Analyzing how Olympic medalists Usain Bolt’s and Michael Phelps’s first person pronouns are translated into Japanese on TV, Ōta demonstrates that Bolt’s “I” is translated as ore so as to index his strength and maleness, whereas Phelps’s “I” is translated as boku to index his wisdom and his identity as someone who makes enormous efforts to win. In research on sarariiman’s use of first person pronouns, SturtzSreetharan (2009) documents that they tend to use fewer first and second person pronouns compared to student and retiree groups. Drawing on Maynard’s (1997) argument that the avoidance of pronouns is more polite than the use of a formal form, SturtzSreetharan (2009) contends that sarariiman’s avoidance of pronouns coincides with their high use of desu/masu forms noted in her previous work. When pronouns are used, however, they convey pragmatic meanings, such as masculinity, aggression, or roughness. In another study, SturtzSreetharan (2006a) shows that ore serves to index not only sarariiman’s masculinity, but also aggression (and thus authority). A male sarariiman in this study, for instance, uses ore to index his disapproving stance, while mitigating the illocutionary force of his utterance by also using desu/masu and nen, a gender-neutral sentence-final particle in the Kansai dialect.

The previous studies on first person pronouns have therefore demonstrated that these pronouns not only index a variety of pragmatic meanings, but also are an ideal space in which masculinity can be manifested.

2.2 Japanese Speech Styles: Desu/Masu and Plain Forms

Japanese has two morphological verbal forms: desu/masu (i.e., addressee honorifics) and plain (i.e., non-honorific). A speaker of Japanese must choose one of these forms in a clause-final position when producing an utterance.

Recent studies on these linguistic forms (e.g., Burdelski 2013; Cook 1996, 2008; Fukuda 2005; Geyer 2008; Saito 2010) have demonstrated that desu/masu forms and plain forms index multiple indexical values depending upon situated contexts. In an analysis of middle school faculty meetings, Geyer (2008) explores interpersonal functions of desu/masu and plain forms. Geyer construes the core meanings of desu/masu forms as showing deference or formality to others, and those of plain forms as showing a lack of formality or deference, or as not displaying the public self. She illustrates how the core properties of these linguistic forms, working jointly with other contextual features, generate pragmatic effects: A plain form functions as a solidarity marker and a mitigation device, while desu/masu forms serve as a deference marker and an impersonalizing device. Cook (1996, 2008), who suggests that style shifts are resources to mark a specific social persona, maintains that desu/masu forms index the speaker’s presentational mode of self in which the speaker is performing a public role, while the plain form marks the speaker’s personal or spontaneous self. Her claim is further confirmed by Burdelski (2013) and Fukuda (2005), who both provide evidence that even preschool children employ desu/masu forms to index a public self in role-playing activities. Analyzing academic consultation sessions between professors and students, Cook (2008) demonstrates how a professor performs the role of a “professional” professor through the use of desu/masu forms, whereas he displays his personal stance with the plain form. Her notion of speech styles as resources for identity construction is also applicable to this study.

Another significant concept for this study is Geyer’s (2008, 2013) categorization of interactional styles in workplace meetings. She classifies interactions in meetings into two types: planned and official talk, and spontaneous and unplanned talk. Planned and official talk is transactional in nature; thus, its content tends to be related to the agenda or minutes of the meeting. Spontaneous and unplanned talk is interactional in nature; therefore, its content is peripheral. Typical examples of planned and official talk are reports and the opening and closing of agenda items, whereas spontaneous and unplanned talk, which tends to express social relations and personal attitudes, includes jokes and soliloquy-like remarks. Drawing on Geyer’s (2013) work, in this study, I use the terms “on-the-record talk” and “off-the-record talk” to refer to planned and official talk and spontaneous and unplanned talk, respectively. In addition, Geyer (2008, 2013) demonstrates that desu/masu forms are likely to appear in on-the-record talk, whereas the plain form is predominantly employed in off-the-record talk. Cook (2011), who also draws on Geyer’s notion of interactional styles in meetings, observes the same phenomena in her data from Japanese business meetings. Although her focus is on the use of referent honorifics, Cook documents how honorific forms, including desu/masu forms, contribute to the construction of on-the-record talk and how these forms further index the speaker’s institutional identity.

Building on Geyer’s and Cook’s work, I demonstrate how Japanese male employees use linguistic resources, including the pronouns boku and ore, as well as speech styles, to manifest different types of masculinities in these interactional styles.

3 Data

The data for this study come from six meetings (two all-male meetings and four mixed-sex meetings) conducted at the Tokyo office of a leading multinational IT company, which has about 230 employees. Each meeting lasted for approximately one hour and consisted of three to four participants. The meetings were audio-recorded by one of the participants. The researcher was not present. Before the first recording, participants were asked to fill out demographic information sheets, which inquired about their age range, the frequency of their face-to-face encounters, and so on. All of the meetings were department- or section-level meetings. The study focuses on four male Japanese employees, whose demographic information is summarized in Table 5.1. E occupies the highest position among the participants; M is the lowest in rank among them. In the department-level meetings, E acted as meeting chair, while in the section-level meetings, T served as the meeting chair. E, G, and T participated in both all-male and mixed-sex meetings, whereas M participated only in all-male meetings.

Table 5.1 Participants
Full size table

The participants have all known each other for at least 12 years. While they work in different sections, they all belong to the same department. They meet each other on a daily basis and work closely to keep their projects going. At least once a week, the participants have a department meeting to report and discuss their ongoing projects and other work-related issues. Moreover, they are all in the same age range (45–49 years old). Given their workplace relationships in addition to the relatively small number of participants, the meetings were all semi-formal.

4 Analysis

In this study, the participants use two primary strategies to perform their masculinities: (1) choosing one of two first person pronouns, either ore or boku; and (2) denigrating their female colleagues. I first show instances of the use of first person pronouns.

4.1 Use of First Person Pronouns

In most cases, the male employees in this study used very few first person pronouns in their utterances, a practice also observed in SturtzSreetharan’s (2009) study. Simultaneously, we see interesting phenomena related to their occasional use of the pronouns ore and boku. Across meetings, male employees predominantly use boku, including the plural forms bokura and bokutachi. In fact, their use of boku in total (154/203, 75.9 percent) is about three times higher than their use of ore (49/203, 24.1 percent), which also includes plural forms orera and oretachi. SturtzSreetharan (2006a) presents similar findings of sarariiman’s preference for boku in her analysis of casual conversations among sarariiman from Western Japan.

In the present study, desu/masu forms include the present (-desu, -masu) and past (-deshita, -mashita) tense forms of verbs and the copula. The plain form includes the present (-u, -ru, -i) and past (-ta, -da) tense forms of verbs/i-type adjectives, the copula da and its past tense form datta, and nouns/na-type adjectives with the deletion of the copula da (see also Cook 2008).

4.1.1 The Use of Boku in On-the-Record Talk

Example (1), which is from an all-male meeting, illustrates how boku in conjunction with desu/masu forms contributes to the performance of sarariiman masculinity in on-the-record talk. Throughout the examples, desu/masu forms are indicated in bold. First person pronouns are underlined.

Example (1)

1

E:

[name of event] fiidobakku tte yū koto de, ((omit four lines))

2

 

nanka kansō toka arimasu ka↑ dō datta toka.

  

“Regarding feedback about (name of event), do you have any impressions? How it [the event] was, for example?”

3

M:

boku wa:: are, mā, kakimashita kedo,

  

“Well, I have already written it down, but.”

4

E:

hai.

  

“Yes.”

5

M:

etto:: mā, seerusu no hō kara motto:: sono, sensu obu ājenshii ga

6

 

kanjirareru no kana:: to omotta n desu kedo.

  

“Well, I thought we would feel, well, more of a sense of urgency from the sales [department].”

E, as the meeting chair, uses desu/masu forms to ask the other meeting participants what they think about an event they recently held (lines 1–2). This is a typical example of the use of desu/masu forms in on-the-record talk when bringing up an agenda item (Geyer 2013). In response to E’s question, M expresses his negative stance toward the sales department in desu/masu forms, although he mitigates his assessment by inserting some hesitation markers, such as etto ‘well’, mā ‘well’, and sono ‘well’, and elongating some words (lines 3, 5, and 6). Enyo (2015) argues that reciprocal exchange of desu/masu forms in on-the-record talk indexes the speakers’ stance of performing a public role. SturtzSreetharan (2004b: 102) maintains that “[t]he sarariiman is a shakaijin—a mature adult with responsibilities … He also shows his prowess and fluency by using appropriately neutral and polite speech.” Considering Enyo’s and SturtzSreetharan’s arguments, as well as the content of the utterances, the mutual exchange of desu/masu forms in this segment can be interpreted as expressing the speakers’ institutional identities. That is, the use of desu/masu forms frames E as a meeting chair, while M’s use of these forms frames him as a full-fledged member of the meeting who takes meeting agendas seriously. It should also be noted that M employs boku in line 3, despite the fact that first person pronouns are not syntactically required in Japanese. Here, M employs boku not only to mark his masculinity, but also to index himself as a person who can properly make an assessment about the event. He could have chosen a more formal first person pronoun (watashi or watakushi), as he has the lowest rank among the meeting participants. By choosing boku, which indexes male speakerhood, over the formal pronoun, M is displaying masculinity. His use of boku thus contributes to shaping M’s institutional identity in the meeting (see also SturtzSreetharan 2006a); concurrently, it allows M to display masculinity as a sarariiman.

Similar examples can be found in Example (2), taken from the other all-male meeting. In this example, E opens an agenda item about a higher level meeting that he is going to attend the next day.

Example (2)

1

E:

de, [name of the meeting] ashita atte, minasan, materiaru arigatō

2

 

gozaimashita to yū koto na n desu ga, chotto zentai to shite,

3

 

yappari ejukeeshon ejukeeshon to itteru n de, de: boku wa minasan

4

 

kara iroiro itadaita inputto o subete ejukeeshon ni

5

 

musubitsukete yattemasu to. dakara,

  

“And, (name of the meeting) is going to be held tomorrow. Thank you for your materials, everyone. As a whole, [other executives have been saying] ‘education, education’ after all. Therefore, I have been connecting all input that I received from everyone to education. Therefore,”

6

G:

kaeshita yo ne↑

  

“I returned it (input), right?”

7

E:

e↑

  

“What?”

8

G:

ano, ejukeeshonaru kontentsu mitai ni shite, saigo chorotto ().

  

“Well, I made it like educational contents and in the end, ().”

9

E:

a, honto↑ de::, chotto are o dō tsukau ka wa chotto wakannai n da

10

 

kedo, etto:: sonna kanji de yarō to omotteru. dakara, e:: ima

11

 

made mitai ni dejitaru komyunitii toka sōyū mono o zenmen

12

 

ni dasu n ja nakutte, dejitaru komyunitii tte yū kontekusuto no

13

 

naka de ejukeeshon tte yū sokumen wa dō na no ka tte yū

14

 

koto de, e:: ashita wa hanashimasu .

  

“Oh, really? And, I still don’t know how I should use it, but I think I will do it that way. Therefore, instead of highlighting digital communities or something like that, just like it has been, tomorrow I will talk about how an aspect of education works in the context of a digital community.”

15

G:

etto boku no yatsu wa saigo no ( ) ga:: waza to ejukeeshonaru

16

 

kontentsu tte yū no ni musubitsukete iru kara.

  

“Well, mine is, the last ( ) is purposely linked to educational contents.”

17

E

ja:, mō ikkai yatte miru wa.

  

“Then, I will try doing it one more time.”

18

G:

hai.

  

“Yes.”

19

E:

nanode, mō ichido ashita wa boku ga zenbu hanashimasu .

  

“Therefore, I will talk about it all one more time tomorrow.”

As his opening remark on this agenda item, E first shows gratitude to the meeting participants who have gathered materials and given him input. He then reports what he has been doing with the input in desu/masu forms (lines 1–5). Note that E uses a humble form, itadaita ‘receive’, to elevate the meeting participants who provided him with input (line 4). Thus, E’s entire utterance here is very formal and indexes an on-the-record context. The content of his utterance implies that E’s position differs from that of the other participants, because it describes E’s responsibility for the work produced by the others. Desu/masu forms in this sequence, along with the content of his “official” talk, therefore foreground E’s institutional identity as a general manager (see also Cook 2008; Enyo 2015). It should also be noted that E employs boku, which marks male speakerhood, in line 3. E’s boku also provides a way for him to link himself to the role he describes, that is, the person who is in charge of connecting the other participants’ input to education, accordingly underscoring his public role as a general manager in this sequence. In lines 9–10, E switches to the plain form to personally respond to G, who has initiated an interaction in the plain form (lines 6 and 8). What is interesting is that immediately after the interaction with G, E resumes his report with the use of dakara ‘therefore’, and further presents what he is going to talk about at the next day’s meeting in desu/masu forms (lines 10–14). When G then clarifies his previous utterances, again in the plain form (lines 15–16), E also shifts back to the plain form (line 17). Then, once again switching back to desu/masu forms, E ends his report, addressing the entire meeting as he explains that he will talk about it all the next day (line 19). His use of desu/masu forms, in conjunction with the content of his “official” utterance, indicates E’s institutional identity as a general manager who is the representative of the entire department who will speak for them all at the next day’s meeting. Note that E uses boku again here (line 19). With this boku, he indexes himself as the agent of the talk, which emphasizes his role as a manager. In Example (2), E switches back and forth between desu/masu forms and plain forms. When addressing the entire meeting, he employs the desu/masu forms, but when interacting only with G, he uses the plain form. Because the plain form frames utterances as unofficial and hence peripheral (Geyer 2008), the interaction between E and G can be construed as an unofficial side-sequence.

Examples (1) and (2) demonstrate that in the on-the-record context of meetings, desu/masu forms, along with the content of the utterances, enable M to construct an institutional identity as a full-fledged member of a meeting and E to construct one as a general manager of a corporation. Their use of boku also indexes such identities and contributes to their performance of these public personae. Simultaneously, it indexes their performance of sarariiman masculinity in on-the-record talk. Both M and E could employ the other male-speaker-associated pronoun, ore, in these interactions; however, rough-sounding ore is incompatible with their public personae. In other words, the context of on-the-record talk, the content of the utterances, the desu/masu forms, and the pronoun boku jointly work to display sarariiman masculinity.

4.1.2 The Use of Ore in Off-the-Record Talk

In off-the-record talk during the meetings, male participants make assessments, give explanations, and engage in monologue-like sequences. Consider Examples (3) and (4), which contain soliloquy-like remarks. Example (3) is derived from a mixed-sex meeting. S is a female employee in her thirties; N is a male employee in his thirties. T, who is S and N’s superior, is soon leaving this company for a prefectural office as part of a people-to-people exchange with the prefecture. They have been discussing the company’s intention to hire three new recruits at a future time.

Example (3)

1

S:

[name of the department], san-nin ja nai desu .

  

“In the (name of the department), it’s not three people.”

2

N:

sa, sarainen haitte kuru hito tte koto desu yo ne↑

  

“You mean people who will join the year after next, right?”

3

S:

a, so so so.

  

“Oh, that’s right. That’s right. That’s right.”

4

T:

(Looking at a document) T-san tte doko kara dete kita n da kore↑

5

 

hajimete kiita zo ore . T-san ja nee daro, koko wa mō. rainen no.

  

“Where did Mr. T come from? I heard [it] for the first time. This shouldn’t be Mr. T. Next year’s.”

6

N:

sō desu ne.

  

“That’s right.”

S uses desu/masu forms to address T (line 1). N also uses these forms to S (line 2), while S responds to N in the plain form (line 3), perhaps because N is relatively new to this corporation. S and N’s use of desu/masu forms thus indicates their recognition of status differences between S and T and between N and S, respectively. Then, T makes a soliloquy-like remark, wondering about the continued use of his name in light of the fact that he is leaving the office soon, in the plain form (lines 4–5). The plain form indexes a lack of formality, a lack of deference, and an absence of a display of public self (Geyer 2008). Here, speaking in the plain form allows T to display his innate self (e.g., Cook 1996, 2008; Fukuda 2005). Note that T uses the particle zo, the first person pronoun ore, the phonologically reduced form ja nee for ja nai, and daro ‘right?’ in line 5. These features are all exclusively male or strongly male-associated forms (Okamoto and Sato 1992; see also Shibamoto Smith 2003, for summaries). T can use these forms because he is speaking in this innate mode. In other words, his men’s language highlights that T is not expressing an official stance at this moment, and it also foregrounds his spontaneous masculinity.

Example (4) is from an all-male meeting. Before this exchange, E, as meeting chair, introduced an agenda item on the management of employees’ schedules.

Example (4)

1

T:

ima made ekuseru de yatteta kedo.

  

“Up to now, we have been doing [schedule management] through Excel.”

2

E:

yatteta n dakke↑ ore nanka mitsukannakatta na.

  

“Have we done it [that way]? I couldn’t find [the Excel files] for some reason.”

3

T:

yatte nakatta to shitara.

  

“If we haven’t done [through Excel].”

T, speaking informally, mentions that they have been using Excel for scheduling (line 1). E then requests confirmation of T’s remark from T (line 2), using n dakke↑, which is often used to confirm things that cannot clearly be recalled (Gurūpu Jamashii 1998). E then makes a monologue-like remark in the plain form that he couldn’t find the Excel files for the employees’ schedules (line 2). Here, E uses ore and another male-exclusive particle na (see Shibamoto Smith 2003). E’s use of these male-associated features in a monologue-like sequence allows him to spontaneously display his masculinity.

Ore also contributes to the establishment of solidarity among male employees. Consider Example (5) from a mixed-sex meeting. In this example, orera ‘we’ is used to create male solidarity. Y, a female employee in her thirties, is discussing the availability of computers in schools. Only Y, G, and E participated in this meeting.

Example (5)

1

Y:

a:::, watashi wa sono, chūnanbee no shōgakkō no piishii kyōiku ga

2

 

wakaranai nde, nantomo ienai n desu kedo, watashi ga shōgakkō no

3

 

toki ni, jugyō de piishii o kubararete yaru tte yū no wa nakatta n

4

 

desu ne.

  

“Well, I don’t know anything about PC education in elementary schools in Central America, so I can’t say much about it. But when I was in elementary school, PCs were never distributed to us in class.”

5

E:

nakatta yo ne.

  

“They weren’t, right?”

6

Y:

dakara sore wa sugoi ii to omoimasu . watashitachi wa toshokan

7

 

ni itte::, nanka sūdai no piishii o minna de kakotte yaru mitai na.

8

 

go-nin ni ichi-dai gurai de::.

  

“Therefore, I think it’s great. We went to the library and gathered around a few PCs to operate [them], like one PC per five students.”

9

G:

orera piishii nakatta.

  

“We didn’t have PCs.”

Y expresses her opinion that giving PCs to students is a great idea, noting that she was not given such an opportunity when she was in elementary school (lines 1–4 and 6–8). The nonreciprocal exchange of Y’s desu/masu forms and E’s and G’s plain forms indicates a hierarchical relationship in which Y is both younger and lower status than E and G. Note that G employs orera ‘we’ to refer to his own elementary school days (line 9). By using orera, G constructs a context of “we” who did not have PCs in elementary school versus Y, who did. That is, G uses this pronoun to draw a line between people in his and E’s generation and Y. Nakamura (2010: 137) notes that in Japan, “masculinity is something which a man has to prove to other men rather than to women.” If so, the easiest way for men to display their masculinity to other men is to use male-associated language. G’s use of orera allows him to present his masculinity to E, as well as to establish solidarity with him.

The previous two sections have analyzed the use of the male-associated first person pronouns, boku and ore, accompanied by desu/masu and plain forms. Desu/masu forms, which index “the speaker’s ‘in-role’ stance” (Enyo 2015: 362), and plain forms, which signify the speaker’s innate stance, play a significant role in displaying different types of masculinity in the course of the meetings. While desu/masu forms contribute to presenting the speaker’s sarariiman identity, the plain form works to construct the speaker’s innate self. Boku and ore interact with these pragmatic meanings of linguistic forms to project the masculinities that these modes of self perform. While in SturtzSreetharan’s (2006a) work, ore indexes a “manly man” model of masculinity, this study observes that it is used to express a spontaneous masculinity vis-à-vis the masculinity of a public social persona, the sarariiman. The innate masculinity and the sarariiman masculinity that male employees perform in business meetings complement each other and may be essential for these employees to balance their masculinity at work. Moreover, in addition to displaying masculinities with ore and boku, the male employees establish solidarity among themselves with orera.

4.2 Putting Female Co-workers Down

The other way that male employees perform their masculinities in this study is through marginalization of their female counterparts. This only occurs in off-the-record talk in all-male meetings, where the plain form that indexes the speaker’s stance of spontaneous self is the characteristic form. “Since gender is a relational term, and the minimal requirement for ‘being a man’ is ‘not being a woman’” (Cameron 1998: 281), one way for men to display their masculine identity may be to draw a line between women and themselves, which can be achieved by expressing misogynistic attitudes. Example (6) illustrates how they gossip about a female co-worker, who is not Japanese but a Westerner. Prior to this segment, they have been discussing budgetary matters, and G mentions a healthcare program that his team has been working on. E’s suggestion in line 1 is directed to G. All names are pseudonyms. Keywords for putting female co-workers down are double underlined.

Example (6)

1

E:

sore o dokka de, fiirudo de toraiaru suru tame no nantoka tte ieba,

2

 

sugoku tsukaiyasui n ja nai desu ka↑ daremo monku iwanai.

  

“If you say something like, it [the program] is for doing trials in the field or somewhere else, then you could use [the budget] easily, right? No one would complain.”

3

G:

e:: mā, kanrisha ga ne.

  

“Well, a person in charge might.”

4

E:

hhh. dare, dare kanrisha↑

  

“Who, who is the person in charge?”

5

G:

e↑

  

“What?”

6

E:

dare↑ kanrisha.

  

“Who is the person in charge?”

7

G:

iya, jotee ga.

  

“Well, an empress is.”

8

T:

jotee ↑

  

“An empress?”

9

E:

kaette kita jotee ↑ kaette, a, kaette kita jotee ja nakute, a::, a::

  

“An empress who just came back? Not an empress who just came, came back, oh, oh,”

10

T:

mō ikko no ().

  

“The other ().”

11

E:

a, Nanshii, Nanshii ne.

  

“Oh, Nancy, Nancy, right?”

12

G:

un.

  

“Yeah.”

13

E:

hhh. Nanshii.

  

“Nancy.”

14

G:

are ga kanrisha ni natteru kara sa:, a, Suzuki-san sonomono wa betsu

15

 

ni ii n da kedo.

  

“That [Nancy] is the person in charge, so, well, Ms. Suzuki is okay, but.”

16

E:

a, sō na n da.

  

“Oh, is that so?”

In lines 1–2, E uses desu/masu forms to formally make a suggestion. In response, G provides a soliloquy-like remark that suggests that the person in charge is problematic (line 3). This invokes off-the-record talk, because the utterance is unrelated to the agenda (Enyo 2015). Upon G’s soliloquy-like utterance in line 3, E and T attempt to find out who the person is. Despite the fact that G does not give the person’s name (instead saying jotee ‘empress’ in line 7), E and T seem to figure out who she is (lines 9–11). This signifies that the person to whom jotee refers is shared knowledge among all the male participants in this segment. They also acknowledge that there is more than one Western jotee, as T mentions mō ikko ‘the other one’ in line 10. Furthermore, it is clear from their language use that they do not see Nancy or jotee positively. Mō ikko ‘the other one’ (line 10) is a form for referring to an object—a person would be referred to as mō hitori ‘the other person.’ In line 14, G says are ga ‘that is’, which also treats the referent, Nancy, as an object. The term jotee ‘an empress’ also has a negative connotation, referring to a woman who has absolute power and authority over others. It should be noted that G does not denigrate a Japanese female co-worker, Suzuki-san (lines 14–15). The example thus suggests that only Western female co-workers are problematic for these male employees, perhaps because their authority over the men is incompatible with “[Japanese] cultural images of subordinate femininity” (Nemoto 2010: 208). The male employees in this segment may be expressing their implicit expectation that, in Japan, “women workers would engage in subordinate roles in a display of traditional femininity” (ibid.: 221).

Nakamura (2010: 138) argues that “if heterosexuality is a prerequisite of masculinity and masculinity needs to be approved by other men, one typical way to establish male heterosexuality is to talk intimately to other men emphasizing misogyny and/or homophobia.” This is exactly what the male employees do in this example. By sarcastically calling Western female co-workers jotee and linguistically objectifying them, the male employees display and reinforce misogynistic attitudes toward them. This creates a boundary between the female colleagues and themselves; accordingly the male employees manifest their innate (heterosexual) masculinity. Moreover, expressing misogyny through criticism of female co-workers contributes to establishing homosocialityFootnote 3 among male employees (e.g., Cameron and Kulick 2003; Kiesling 2001; Nakamura 2010; Sedgwick 1992). The male employees’ implicitly shared knowledge of who is considered a jotee further intensifies their male bonding.

Another example from the all-male meeting data shows a similar phenomenon. In this example, they are discussing a “field trip” in which all the employees in the department go somewhere for fun. Again, E serves as the meeting chair; I is a male employee in his forties.

Example (7)

1

E:

san-gatsu matsu, san-gatsu matsu gurai de, chotto yarō kana to

2

 

yū fū ni omottemasu .

  

“I have been thinking of having [a field trip] at the end of March, around the end of March.”

  

((Omit two turns))

3

E:

nanka ii basho aru kana.

  

“I wonder if there is a good place [for it].”

4

T:

un↑ nan no↑

  

“Huh? For what?”

5

E:

umi ikō kana yappari.

  

“I wonder if we should go to the ocean after all.”

6

I:

umi.

  

“The ocean.”

7

T:

san-gatsu no umi samui na.

  

“The ocean in March is cold.”

8

E:

iya ii kanji desu yo. kaze sae nakereba. kaze fuichau to,

  

“No, it is good if the wind doesn’t blow. If the wind blows,”

9

T:

pii pii yū yo. uchi no.

  

“Our [employees] would make a fuss.”

10

E:

e:↑

  

“What?”

11

T:

uchi no pii pii yū yo. samukattari suru to.

  

“Our [employees] would make a fuss, if it is cold.”

12

E:

a:. dare ga↑

  

“Oh, who?”

13

T:

e:↑

  

“What?”

14

E:

gyaru ↑ daijōbu da yo. umi wa ano, fune notte iku kara. hhh.

  

“Girls? It should be OK. We are going to the ocean by boat.”

15

M:

fune de iku n desu ka↑

  

“Are we going there by boat? ”

16

E:

un.

  

“ Yeah. ”

17

 

(1.0)

18

E:

ichiō kyū wan san-gatsu ni ichi-do, puran,

  

“ [I think that I want to make] a plan in March, Q1 (the first quarter).”

19

T:

hai.

  

“ Yes. ”

20

E:

shitai to omoimasu .

  

“ I think I want to. ”

E announces that he has been thinking of having a field trip in desu/masu forms (lines 1–2). Here, he frames his idea as official, playing the role of a general manager. E then shifts his speech style to the plain form and delivers a monologue-like utterance, which provokes off-the-record talk (Geyer 2013); accordingly, T responds to E in the plain form (line 4). In line 8, E switches back to desu/masu forms to challenge T’s assessment that the ocean is cold in March. E’s use of desu/masu forms here parallels a female superior’s desu/masu form usage in Takano’s (2005) study, where Japanese female superiors employ desu/masu forms to detach themselves from a group of employees and present their institutional role as superiors. By returning to the desu/masu forms, E reconstructs his official role as a general manager so as to legitimize his challenge to T. But, subsequently, T resumes off-the-record talk, providing his assessment of other employees in the plain form (line 9). Pii pii evokes a chirping sound; thus, pii pii yū ‘make a fuss’ has a connotation of a person complaining in a high-pitched, squeaky voice. At first, E seems to have no idea whom T is talking about, which makes T insert the interjection e↑ (line 13) with rising intonation. This interjection indicates that T assumed that E and he shared knowledge of who makes a fuss. In line 14, E finally figures out who that is. It is noteworthy that E calls the female employees gyaru ‘girls’ instead of using a more proper term for female employees, such as joshi shain or josee shain. The mainstream media in Japan often depict gyaru as young women who are self-centered and self-assertive, challenging conventional female gender roles and femininity (Miller 2004). In this example, E may use gyaru to downgrade young employees by depicting them as self-centered and rebellious. Here as well, E marginalizes his female colleagues, drawing on a gender ideology in Japan of subordinate femininity (Nemoto 2010). No other participants in the meeting contest E’s use of gyaru, indicating that they all align with E in terms of this identification of young female co-workers. This segment ends in lines 18 and 20, when E, shifting back to desu/masu forms, formally ends his announcement.

Cameron and Kulick (2003: 59) argue that “heterosexual talk (i.e., talk which overtly marks the speaker as heterosexual) may be a means for constructing gender identities and/or homosocial relationships among people of the same gender.” Their point is confirmed by the examples in this section. The section illustrates that by using sexist language (i.e., jotee and gyaru), male employees denigrate female co-workers or express misogyny, and accordingly they display their innate (heterosexual) masculinity and strengthen their homosocial ties. The content of their misogynistic conversations and the off-the-record contexts, where the plain form is the characteristic form, allow the male employees to perform an innate side of their masculinity. Furthermore, as Examples (6) and (7) demonstrate, the male employees’ identification of female colleagues as problematic is rooted in a Japanese cultural model of gender relations: “superior men and subordinated women” (Ashikari 2003). A cultural model of gender relations can hence be a resource for the display of (heterosexual) masculinity.

What is also remarkable in these examples is that the male employees who initiate the denigration (G in Example (6) and T in Example (7)) never explicitly state who is a problem. Rather, other employees figure out who the speaker means. Thus, the male employees must call on in-group knowledge of problematic female colleagues, which also constructs homosociality among them. Further, as Cameron and Kulick (2003: 115) assert, “intimacy is often achieved, at least in part, through the transgression of public taboos”; referring to other employees as objects, as jotee ‘the empress’, or as gyaru ‘girls’ would probably be considered taboo in most workplaces. The interactions of the male employees in this study thus intricately incorporate in-group knowledge, misogynistic cultural models, and the transgression of public taboos to create homosocial relationships with each other.

5 Conclusion

Although sarariiman have been identified by scholars as representing hegemonic masculinity, their performance of masculinity while at work is under-investigated. This chapter draws attention to how sarariiman perform different types of masculinities in the course of business meetings and confirms the claim made by previous studies that there are multiple and diverse masculinities (e.g., Dasgupta 2013; Kiesling 2001, 2007; SturtzSreetharan 2006a, b, 2009). Previous research has asserted that in contemporary Japan, “the daring, aggressive warrior-like masculinity of the past fades into something gentler, kinder, and even a bit timid” (Occhi et al. 2010: 421). The findings of this study partially coincide with this line of work, since the male employees use a more formal male-associated pronoun, boku, in conjunction with desu/masu forms to perform their sarariiman masculinity. Yet the analysis also demonstrates that contemporary sarariiman still embody masculinity by employing stereotypical men’s language along with the plain form, including the vulgar, rough-sounding ore and exclusively male-associated particles. Furthermore, the study demonstrates that sarariiman’s masculinities are not solely realized by men’s language. Rather, men’s language and other contextual features, such as types of interactional style (i.e., on-the-record and off-the-record talk), particular pragmatic meanings of desu/masu and plain forms, the content of utterances, and conversational topics related to gender ideologies, all serve as resources for sarariiman’s performance of masculinities. I suggest, therefore, that in order to analyze masculinity in Japanese, it is necessary to look into other co-occurring linguistic resources in addition to men’s language forms alone.

Furthermore, the performance of masculinity may contribute to the creation and maintenance of positive interpersonal relationships at work. The male employees in this study, who all work in the same department, seem to establish intimacy among themselves at least in part by establishing homosociality through the display of their innate masculinity. Marginalizing female colleagues is one way for them to do so (see also Cameron 1998; Kiesling 2007). Hence, this chapter also illustrates how the male employees generate homosocial relationships built on their spontaneous masculinity.