Michael Woodford’s Exposure: Inside the Olympus Scandal begins against the backdrop of the 2011 Tohoku earthquake, as he travels to Japan to assume the role of chief executive of Olympus. It opens with a rather typical expat narrative, with descriptions of luxury flights, elegant flight attendants and soft slippers, and then it picks up pace as he describes how the mismanagement of the Tohoku disaster aligns with his own experiences at the top levels of Japanese management. Woodford had joined Olympus’s British subsidiary as a salesman nearly thirty years before and by his late twenties was managing director of the division. He later became head of Olympus in Europe before being elevated to the top job in Tokyo. He was the first foreigner to run the company and one of the very few ever to lead any major Japanese corporation. His appointment appeared to symbolise Japan’s new openness to global practices, but it quickly led to the exposure of a long running corporate scandal. The book is notable for its dissection of how social networks and corporate culture allowed management to sustain fraud across successive generations of leadership. The inner circle not only rationalised their conduct among themselves but also enlisted outside associates to endorse and normalise the deception. It also revealed the lack of effective oversight in Japan, where neither financial institutions nor the domestic press played a meaningful role in holding the company’s directors to account.
Barely weeks into his new role, he was sent a translated article from Facta, a Japanese monthly investigative magazine, alleging extremely questionable transactions within Olympus. What followed was a battle not only over their financial activities but also over the limits of corporate governance in a society where silence and loyalty often outweigh transparency. Woodford pressed his Japanese colleagues about very large sums being spent on ‘Mickey Mouse’ companies and an unprecedented amount on mysterious “advisory fees.” His confrontations, both in turns frightening and darkly funny, revealed both his refusal to play by the unspoken rules of deference and the extraordinary lengths to which Olympus executives would go to protect a fraud. Funds, as forensic accountants later traced, had vanished into offshore accounts. What had prompted me to read this book was reading remark about how he knew he was in trouble when he was given a passive aggressive tuna sandwich when his colleagues were given sushi.
The book is not merely a tale of corporate malfeasance but also a study of cultural issues. Olympus’s management structure blurred the line between personal loyalty and fiduciary responsibility, and its absence of independent remuneration committees exemplified a wider lack of checks and balances. In Japan, salaries and bonuses could be determined by the executive alone, creating a fertile ground for mutual back scratching and the concealment of wrongdoing. What I especially liked about this narrative was that it demonstrated that “cultural” justifications shouldn’t be used as a defence mechanism. Those involved in such cross-cultural situations have to work extra hard to frame their reports in terms of ethics, legality and policy. Woodford was trying to point out longstanding criminal activity and people responded to it as if he just couldn’t grasp the nuances of Japanese culture.
Woodford argued that these actions created a hostile environment and could bring serious harm to the organisation. He gave them plenty of opportunities to do the right thing, but were of course in no hurry to do so. When he alerted company members outside Japan, the Japanese board seemed more upset by this than the idea of a huge amount of missing money. I’m sure it was very frustrating for him to see cultural differences used to deflect criticism or accountability, particularly when it was paired with accusations that he was racist or didn’t understand the organisation’s hierarchy.
Woodford is frank about the personal cost of exposing the reality of the company’s finances. He recounts his fear, the absolutely crazy working hours, his constant sleep deprivation, and the long separations from his wife and children. Even when he was physically with his children he wasn’t really mentally there. A chapter in the centre of the book is dedicated to his childhood, often reminding readers of his own working-class origins and how these shaped his instincts and sense of values. Some critics have found this emphasis distracting, yet it clarifies the moral codes that guided his decisions. Honestly, it’s difficult to imagine a British memoir that doesn’t touch on class, though I can understand why those unfamiliar with the British class system might see it as irrelevant. Additionally, he had been bullied for his racially ambiguous appearance as a child, and therefore found accusations of his whistleblowing being fuelled by racism to be especially infuriating. By pushing against silence, he invited not only institutional hostility but also an almost mob-like aggression from his colleagues, uncharacteristic of the politeness he had long associated with Japanese corporate life. His story underscores how corruption flourishes when loyalty is prized above accountability, and how isolating the experience must have been.
The final chapters, including an afterword by journalist and crime author Jake Adelstein, place the Olympus affair within a larger framework of Japanese corporate crime and its uneasy ties to organised crime. This includes descriptions of other people who died under suspicious circumstances and unconvincing ‘suicides.’ If Adelstein’s perspective had been woven throughout rather than placed at the end, the book might have been better received. I read a number of comments online saying that Woodford had exaggerated the danger he was in, even though the UK police clearly didn’t think so. Exposure is a thrilling account of the difficulty of reporting misconduct when so many are implicated and the personal toll of insisting on transparency. It would be suitable for readers interested in business ethics, financial regulation, shareholder values and obligations, anti-fraud measures, and Japanese business culture. Above all, it offers a strong warning against the temptation to explain away malpractice as merely a cultural difference.