In Japan, there is a curious term that has become something of a buzzword: “Jiatama” (地頭).
It’s often used in the phrase “He’s got good jiatama,” meaning “He’s smart, even though he doesn’t have an academic background.”
At first glance, it might seem similar to the English term “street-smart,” but in truth, it is the exact opposite. Street-smart refers to practical intelligence, the kind of wisdom one earns through surviving real danger and uncertainty. It belongs to those who have truly faced the world and learned to navigate it.
“Jiatama,” on the other hand, is a form of wishful thinking, the belief that one is secretly intelligent, despite any evidence to support it. It is, in essence, a comforting illusion for those who never applied themselves.
After graduating from a national university, I worked for a publicly listed company in Tokyo. The work was demanding but fulfilling, until relentless harassment and overwork wore me down. Eventually, I left and returned to my hometown in Ehime.
At my new job, I encountered a kind of employee I had never seen in Tokyo. It was there that I first heard the word jiatama from someone’s mouth.
“I’ve got good jiatama,”
one middle-aged male coworker declared confidently.
Yet it was I who constantly fixed his mistakes and carried the weight of his unfinished work. If that was what “good jiatama” looked like, I wanted no part of it.
Few expressions are as convenient — or as hollow — as “I’ve got good jiatama.”
If someone were truly intelligent, they would have no trouble mastering the structured knowledge of formal education. Only those who persevere and continue learning can ever see the larger systems that shape the world. Thus, while good grades may not be a sufficient condition of intelligence, they are almost certainly a necessary one.
People are not born equal. But in a developed country like Japan, the opportunity to make an effort is equally available to all. If someone could not study properly as a child, there are still countless chances to learn as an adult — through languages, professional qualifications, or any serious pursuit of knowledge.
To abandon those opportunities and still boast, “I’m smart — I’ve got good jiatama,” is not intelligence at all. It is simply proof of one’s cluelessness.
To learn is, in the Socratic sense, to know that you know nothing. I believe true wisdom begins not with pride, but with humility, the quiet courage to face one’s own ignorance, again and again.