This Japanese CEO Sacrifices His Entire Salary… The Reason Will Restore Your Faith in Leadership

July 24, 2025
|In Inspiration
|By Prince Ea

What if I told you that one of the most powerful lessons in leadership didn’t come from a TED Talk, a bestselling business book, or a high-profile executive—but from a man who rode the city bus to work, ate in the company cafeteria, and gave up most of his paycheck when times got hard?

In a world where leadership often looks like distance—titles stacked high, decisions made behind glass walls—there was one CEO who chose to do things differently. Haruka Nishimatsu, the former head of Japan Airlines, didn’t lead from above. He led from beside. And in doing so, he reminded us what real leadership looks like when everything’s on the line.

This isn’t just a story about a humble executive in a suit. It’s a challenge to every one of us who’s ever been in a position to influence, guide, or care for others. Because leadership isn’t reserved for CEOs—it shows up in how we treat people, how we show up when no one’s watching, and what we’re willing to give up so that others don’t have to.

A Different Kind of CEO

In a world where corner offices often symbolize power and private jets replace public trains, Haruka Nishimatsu broke the mold. At the height of Japan Airlines’ financial crisis, while executives in other companies clung to perks and paychecks, Nishimatsu quietly made a different choice—he cut his own salary, stepped out of the boardroom, and sat down beside his employees in the company cafeteria.

This wasn’t for the cameras. It wasn’t PR. It was principle.

At one point, he made less than the pilots flying his planes. He took the bus to work, just like the rest of his staff. He removed the door to his office so anyone—mechanic or manager—could walk in. “If management is distant, up in the clouds, people just wait for orders,” he once said. “I wanted my people to see me, to feel they could talk to me.”

And talk to him, they did. In a time when the airline faced deep debt and uncertainty, employees stayed loyal, not because of policy—but because of proximity. Nishimatsu was present. Not above them. Not ahead of them. With them.

While some leaders hide behind spreadsheets and shareholder demands, Nishimatsu chose empathy over ego. He didn’t demand trust—he earned it, every day, through action. This wasn’t leadership by authority. This was leadership by example.

His humility wasn’t weakness. It was strength—the kind that makes others want to rise with you, not because they have to, but because they believe in you.

Leadership in the Fire

The early 2000s tested the resolve of even the most seasoned airline executives. Japan Airlines was bleeding financially, weighed down by decades of inefficiencies, mounting debt, and a global downturn that threatened to ground its future. In this climate of fear and uncertainty, many corporate leaders turned to predictable measures: mass layoffs, government bailouts, and golden parachutes to cushion their own descent. But Haruka Nishimatsu saw leadership differently. When the turbulence hit, he didn’t tighten his grip on privilege—he let it go.

Rather than downsizing his workforce or hoarding executive benefits, Nishimatsu slashed his own salary to the same level as the minimum payout offered to early-retiring managers—around 9.6 million yen, modest by any executive standard and far below what his counterparts in the U.S. or Europe were earning. And when that policy shifted, he continued to return 60% of his pay. These weren’t gestures aimed at headlines; they were decisions grounded in conviction. His philosophy was simple: if anyone had to make sacrifices, it should start at the top.

What makes this even more striking is how quietly he carried it. He never positioned himself as a martyr or a hero. His actions weren’t accompanied by grand statements, just steady decisions that prioritized people over pride. He understood that leadership wasn’t about looking unshaken—it was about being willing to be vulnerable first. In an era where corporate trust was rapidly eroding, he rebuilt it the only way it can be rebuilt: by being the first to step forward and the last to step away.

Nishimatsu believed that the role of management wasn’t to command from above but to serve from within. He once said, “We in management should work for the front-line people. It’s the front-line people who are working for the customers.” That belief shaped every action he took during the crisis—not because it was expected, but because it was right. And in doing so, he reminded the world that real leadership isn’t revealed by titles or rewards—but by what you do when everything is on the line.

No Perks, Just Principles

Leadership is not just tested in boardrooms or during moments of crisis—it’s revealed in the mundane routines of everyday life. Haruka Nishimatsu understood this deeply. Long after the cameras stopped rolling, he continued to show up—not in a luxury sedan with tinted windows, but on public transportation, shoulder to shoulder with everyday commuters. He didn’t eat in an exclusive executive suite; he shared meals in the staff cafeteria, no reserved tables, no special treatment. These weren’t stunts to win admiration—they were daily decisions rooted in humility and accountability.

He also removed the physical and symbolic barriers that typically separate executives from employees. His office had no door, not because he wanted to appear accessible, but because he was accessible. Anyone—mechanic, ground crew, flight attendant—could walk in and speak their mind. That kind of openness can’t be faked. It creates a culture where trust isn’t demanded, it’s earned. It also sends a message that leadership is not about distance, but presence. When your people see you living the values you speak about, they don’t need to be convinced—they begin to believe.

By rejecting the symbols of status and choosing solidarity instead, Nishimatsu redefined what it means to lead from the front. He showed that true leadership isn’t about comfort—it’s about character. The absence of a chauffeur or a private lunch wasn’t an act of sacrifice; it was a commitment to shared humanity. And in a workplace where so many feel unseen by those in power, his visibility—both literal and emotional—was a form of empowerment. It gave his team a sense of dignity, and with it, a deeper willingness to stand by the company during hard times.

Through these daily habits, Nishimatsu wasn’t just leading a company—he was shaping a culture. He reminded people that success doesn’t have to be built on status or hierarchy. Sometimes, the most powerful thing a leader can do is walk beside their people—not ahead of them, not above them, but right there in the trenches. That kind of leadership doesn’t just survive tough times. It inspires loyalty that money can’t buy.

Rooted in Culture, Rising Beyond It

Japan is a nation where humility, discipline, and collective harmony are not just social niceties—they’re cultural cornerstones. In that context, Haruka Nishimatsu’s modesty might seem unsurprising. But his leadership went beyond cultural expectation—it was a conscious, courageous choice to live out those values in a corporate world increasingly shaped by global pressures and Western business models. While many Japanese CEOs embraced modern executive perks and hierarchical distance, Nishimatsu doubled down on human connection.

He didn’t simply reflect Japanese values; he reinvigorated them. In a society that honors quiet resilience and group cohesion, he showed what those principles look like at scale—inside a troubled multinational company under the glare of financial scrutiny. His actions weren’t performative nods to tradition—they were radical affirmations of respect and reciprocity in a system that too often forgets the human element. And that’s what made him stand out, even in his own country. He took cultural virtues and transformed them into leadership virtues.

This is why his story resonated far beyond Japan. In the aftermath of the 2008 global financial crisis—when stories of corporate greed and CEO excess dominated headlines—Nishimatsu’s approach offered a refreshing contrast. Business schools began citing him as a case study in servant leadership. Leadership seminars invoked his example to spark conversations about moral courage. His influence transcended borders because it touched on something universal: the longing for integrity in power, and the belief that leaders should be the first to sacrifice, not the last.

What made Nishimatsu exceptional wasn’t that he conformed to his cultural roots—it’s that he elevated them into a globally relevant model of ethical leadership. In doing so, he challenged not only the norms of executive behavior but also the assumptions about what effective leadership looks like in any culture. He proved that respect, humility, and transparency aren’t weaknesses to overcome—they’re strengths to lead with.

The Leader the World Needs Now

In a time when leadership is often confused with authority, and where too many at the top are out of touch with those on the ground, Haruka Nishimatsu’s story reminds us of a simple but powerful truth: leadership is not about status—it’s about service. It’s not about how loudly you speak, but how clearly you act. When Nishimatsu said, “If you are a leader, you must set the example,” he wasn’t offering a quote for a poster. He was offering a blueprint for what leadership can—and should—look like.

What we need today are not more managers who measure success by profits alone, but leaders who understand that trust is the real currency of any organization. We need decision-makers who show up not just in press releases, but in the daily lives of their teams. Leaders who don’t just call for sacrifice from others, but share in it themselves. That kind of leadership doesn’t just inspire loyalty—it earns it. And in times of uncertainty, loyalty becomes the lifeline that holds organizations together.

Haruka Nishimatsu may no longer be the CEO of JAL, but the values he led with remain timeless. His choices challenged a system obsessed with image, and his example reminds us that real change doesn’t start with big speeches—it starts with small, consistent acts of integrity. Whether you’re leading a company, a classroom, or just yourself, the principle is the same: people don’t follow titles. They follow trust.

So the question isn’t whether the world can produce more leaders like Haruka Nishimatsu. The question is—are we willing to become them? To lead not with ego, but with empathy. To trade prestige for purpose. To live, not above others, but among them. That’s the kind of leadership that restores faith—not just in companies, but in humanity itself.