Sometimes, companies do mysterious things. Like assigning someone who can’t read Japanese to check English translations of Japanese documents.
If you’d told me years ago that such a thing could actually happen, I’d have laughed. Now, I’m living it. I’m not laughing—but what else can you do?
Let’s call her Edgar (not her real name). She’s American. Her job title: copywriting specialist. The company’s original pitch was: “We offer clear, natural English writing by native editors.”
Sounds great.
Except for one small problem—Edgar doesn’t understand Japanese. At all. Back in the day, companies sometimes produced English-only integrated reports.
In those days, native editors like her actually wrote or crafted copy from scratch. But now, almost every company publishes both Japanese and English versions. The Japanese version comes first; the English version is a translation.
Our editors send the Japanese files to professional translators, communicate in English, and check the translated drafts—ensuring consistency in terms, names, numbers, and meaning—before sending them back to us coordinators. Ideally, the editor should also make sure that across all translators, units (million vs. billion) and company-specific terms are consistent. That’s what “editing” means.
But in Edgar’s case, the files come back untouched—except for countless comments. Allow me to share a few gems.
Comment #1: “This part says billion. Did the Japanese side change their notation from last year? Please confirm.”
No, they didn’t. A different translator simply used a different convention this year. And after seven years here, you’d think she’d recognize 百万円 as “millions of yen.” Or at least take a peek at last year’s report before asking.
Comment #2: “Is there a missing title in the English version of this director’s position? Please check.”
Come on. That same title appears right there on the governance page. A quick glance at the company website—or any investor disclosure—would make it obvious.
In short, she’s reviewing translations she can’t actually understand. The translators understand Japanese. So the problem is clear: she’s the only one who doesn’t understand what’s going on.
The result? More questions, more chats, and somehow, another day gone. It feels like walking through fog—not knowing whether you’re moving forward or just circling the same patch of air.
But humans are adaptable. At first, I kept asking, “Why does this happen?” Now, I just shrug and think, “Well, that’s today.” It’s not really anyone’s fault. It’s just… the way the pieces fell.
And yet, every so often, I remember that company slogan:
“Our strength is in native English writing.”
I picture my boss’s confident face when he first said it. The same boss who can’t speak English, who believes that if he just speaks slowly and loudly in Japanese, Edgar will magically sense his meaning.
Looking back, maybe that slogan was the real copywriting masterpiece. It didn’t mean much—but it sure sounded good.