Beyond the native speaker myth: Who ‘owns’ the Japanese language?

Japan continues to draw an unspoken but influential boundary — one that sorts and evaluates people according to whether they can speak Japanese “like a native.” Even highly proficient speakers often find themselves kept at arm’s length, judged against an imagined linguistic ideal that few can meet. The result is a narrowing of possibilities not only for learners, but for Japanese society.

This sits uneasily with the government’s own Reference Framework for Japanese-Language Education — a national guideline created in 2021 that uses six levels from A1 to C2 and focuses on what learners can actually do with the language — which does not position native speakers as the default model.

Yet the expectation remains: Those who live or work in Japan should sound “like a Japanese person.” Many learners internalize this pressure. The question, then, is why this contradiction endures.

Japan’s language requirements have tightened in recent years. As of April 15, applicants for the “Engineer/Specialist in Humanities/International Services” visa must demonstrate roughly N2-level proficiency, except in occupations where Japanese is not required. For permanent residency, meanwhile, the government is considering introducing a language requirement, and unlike the visa category above, no occupation-based exemptions have been proposed. Even with these distinctions, the systems under discussion still assume that there is a single correct form of Japanese and that deviations from it signal deficiency.

This assumption is tied to a 20th-century ideology that equates one language with one nation. Japan has no legally designated official language, yet Japanese functions as a national symbol by convention. The very idea of “the Japanese language” and “the Japanese people” resembles what political scientist Benedict Anderson described as an imagined community — a collective identity sustained through shared narratives, including language.

Language, however, does more than bind people together. It also draws boundaries. In Japan, this often hardens into an implicit equation — to speak Japanese is to be Japanese. Scholar Hazuki Segawa refers to this dynamic as “Japanese-language nationalism.” Segawa’s research on Japanese-language education under colonial rule in Taiwan, Korea and parts of China shows how language functioned as a tool of assimilation and governance, shaping political identity and regulating belonging.

Echoes of this structure can be heard today. Those who do not speak Japanese like native speakers should be excluded from political participation or from the social mainstream, some argue, echoing the recent emergence of a “Japan First” rhetoric. In this discourse, Japanese becomes less a shared resource than a marker of cultural or ethnic legitimacy.

Such thinking is out of step with the realities of a multicultural Japan. It also risks narrowing democratic dialogue by limiting who is seen as entitled to speak and participate.

Despite the persistence of native-speaker norms, Japanese-language education in Japan has already begun to shift. The 2021 Reference Framework defines the purpose of language education as building “a vibrant, inclusive society that respects cultural diversity.” It positions learners as social agents, not imitators of an idealized native speaker, and emphasizes language as a tool for participation.

This marks a significant conceptual departure. The framework focuses not on the mastery of grammatical knowledge but on what learners can actually do with language in real-world settings. It adopts an action-oriented approach that aligns more closely with live communication than with textbook perfection.

Yet implementation has not caught up. Assessment systems still emphasize grammar- and vocabulary-heavy testing, measuring knowledge about Japanese rather than the ability to participate in society through the language. Notably, Japan still lacks robust mechanisms for evaluating spoken interaction, even though oral communication is central to daily life, work and civic engagement.

The gap between the framework’s inclusive vision and the reality of assessment shapes not only language education but also broader notions of who is recognized as belonging.

As Japan considers adding language requirements to permanent residency and other visa categories, it must also reconsider what “proficiency” means. If immigration policy is to align with the Reference Framework’s inclusive vision, both education and society must move beyond native-speaker perfectionism.

First, Japan should acknowledge that Japanese spoken by non-native speakers — with its accents, variations and creative expressions — is already a part of the country’s contemporary linguistic landscape. These forms should not be dismissed as errors; they reflect the natural diversity of Japanese as it is used in a multilingual society.

Second, Japan should adopt more action-oriented assessment tools, such as language portfolios that document growth, participation and contribution over time. Such approaches would shift the focus away from uniform, high-stakes testing and toward a richer understanding of what language enables people to do. They would recognize learners as active members of society, not mere test-takers.

These changes would move Japan away from a fundamentalist conception of language and toward a model that reflects the realities of a diverse population.

Proficiency in Japanese should never be equated with becoming Japanese. It should mean being able to connect with others, participate in society, express disagreement and claim one’s place in public life — all while remaining fully oneself.

If Japan is serious about the inclusive society envisioned in its own Reference Framework, it must dismantle the pedestal of the native speaker and embrace a future in which diverse voices shape the Japanese language together.

The question is no longer whether non-native speakers can adapt to Japan’s linguistic norms. The question is whether Japan is prepared to recognize the diversity already reshaping its linguistic future.