When former First Lady of Japan outclassed Donald Trump—by not speaking English

Time of India

24-06-2025

Image: https://x.com/markknoller/
Image: https://x.com/markknoller/
Image: https://x.com/markknoller/
Image: https://x.com/markknoller/
Image: https://x.com/markknoller/
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There's a certain kind of silence that speaks louder than words. And in 2017, when then-Japanese First Lady Akie Abe sat next to President
Donald Trump
at a G20 dinner in Hamburg and reportedly didn't say a word to him for nearly two hours, the world took notice.
Trump, famously incapable of hiding his disdain when things don't go his way, later told the New York Times that Mrs.
Abe "doesn't speak English," implying that their lack of conversation was due to the language barrier.
But here's where things got really interesting: Akie Abe does speak English. Not fluently, perhaps, but certainly enough to navigate basic conversations. She's delivered speeches in English, and interacted with international audiences. So, what gives?
The answer, for many Japanese citizens and fans of soft diplomacy around the globe, was simple—her silence was intentional.
And that silence, whether calculated or circumstantial, was interpreted by many in Japan as a small but powerful act of protest. A quiet resistance. An elegant refusal to play along.
A First Lady unlike any other
To understand why Akie Abe was hailed as a hero for saying absolutely nothing, you have to understand who she is. Unlike many political spouses who stay firmly in the shadow of their powerful partners, Akie was never the traditional Japanese First Lady.
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A former DJ and vocal advocate for progressive causes like LGBTQ+ rights, marijuana legalization (gasp!), and renewable energy, she often clashed with the more conservative policies of her husband, Shinzo Abe, Japan's longest-serving Prime Minister.
In Japan's buttoned-up political circles, she was seen as refreshingly rebellious, a little unpredictable, and delightfully candid. So when she 'didn't speak' to Trump, people didn't see a woman held back by a language barrier—they saw a woman making a statement.
The power of choosing not to engage
Now, let's be real. Sitting through a two-hour dinner next to someone like Donald Trump and saying nothing would require either a saint's patience or a very good reason. And the idea that Akie Abe simply chose not to engage with a man whose worldview clashed with hers felt incredibly satisfying to many observers.
Especially in a global political climate where women in power are often expected to be overly gracious, endlessly diplomatic, and performatively pleasant, Akie's quiet non-compliance felt...
radical. It wasn't loud. It wasn't disruptive. It was polite, culturally appropriate, and eerily effective.
In that moment, she seemed to embody an ancient Japanese art form: saying everything by saying nothing at all.
A lesson in cultural nuance
Western media, of course, had a field day. Trump's comment that she 'doesn't even speak English' was met with raised eyebrows and plenty of fact-checking. But in Japan, the response was more layered.
Rather than outrage, there was admiration. Online forums lit up with praise for the First Lady. Memes circulated. Articles framed her silence as a kind of political jujitsu—using her supposed weakness (language skills) to disarm an opponent without ever throwing a punch.
It was a masterclass in tatemae versus honne—the Japanese concept of outward appearance versus inner truth. And in this case, her tatemae (public behavior) was the perfect mask for a potential honne (true feeling) of disapproval.
She didn't roll her eyes. She didn't tweet about it. She just... didn't play.
When language becomes a weapon—and a shield
The global obsession with English proficiency often puts pressure on non-native speakers to conform to a Western ideal of communication. If you want to be respected, we're told, speak English. If you want to be heard, make it accessible for Americans. But Akie Abe's refusal—or perhaps, her performance of refusal—to engage in English was a subtle reminder that silence can be just as assertive as speech.
In fact, her actions (or inactions) sparked debates about how language, or the lack thereof, can be wielded as both a weapon and a shield in global politics.
It was a rare moment where not being able—or pretending not to be able—to speak English was seen as a flex. A form of resistance against a leader whose very presence symbolized a type of international bravado that many found tiresome. In a world dominated by loud opinions, Akie's silence echoed louder than Trump's tweets.
The internet loved it
Social media, especially in Japan and among progressives worldwide, had a field day. Think pieces flooded the web. People called her a queen, an icon, a master of passive resistance. The image of her sitting silently, smiling politely, became a meme of almost mythic proportions.
And unlike the usual cycle of over-hyping a moment until it collapses under scrutiny, this one stuck. Akie Abe didn't just survive the dinner—she elevated it into performance art.
It's strange, isn't it? That in a world so obsessed with visibility and vocal activism, one of the most resonant political statements came from a dinner seat left politely, firmly silent.
Akie Abe didn't protest with placards or soundbites. She didn't tweet in uppercase letters. She didn't give speeches on international stages condemning U.S. policy. She just leaned into a moment, allowed the assumption of her silence to take root, and let others fill in the blanks.
Whether it was a deliberate snub or just an awkward dinner, it didn't really matter in the end. What mattered was the symbolism—and how ready people were to interpret her silence as strength.
In a world that often demands women be endlessly accommodating, Akie Abe reminded us that sometimes, the loudest thing you can do... is nothing at all.