Friday, September 26, 2008
Japan's online social scene isn't so social
September 26, 2008
International Herald Tribune
TOKYO: Like a lot of 20-year-olds, Kae Takahashi has a page on U.S.-based MySpace, and there is no mistaking it for anyone else's.
It's got pictures of the funky Tokyoite modeling the clothes she designs in her spare time, along with her name, plus personal details and ramblings in slightly awkward English about her love life.
Switch to her site on mixi, Japan's dominant online hangout, and her identity vanishes.
There, Takahashi uses a fake name and says she is an 88-year-old from the town of "Christmas." Her profile is locked to outsiders.
Takahashi is far from alone: the vast majority of mixi's roughly 15 million users don't reveal anything about themselves.
It's not just mixi. It's Japan.
YouTube is wildly successful here, but rare is the user who follows the site's enticement to "Broadcast Yourself." Posting pet videos is far more popular, and has bred a generation of animal celebrities.
On large matchmaking sites like Match.com the whole point is to open up and meet strangers. But fewer than half of Match's paying members in Japan are willing to post their photos, compared with nearly all members in the U.S.
Welcome to Japan's online social scene, where you're unlikely to meet anyone you don't know already. The early promises of a new, open social frontier, akin to the identity-centric world of Facebook and MySpace in the U.S., have been replaced by a realm where people stay safely within their circles of friends and few reveal themselves to strangers.
"There is the sense that, 'My face just isn't that interesting, or I'm not attractive — there is nothing special about me to show people,'" says Tetsuya Shibui, a writer who has long followed the Internet in Japan.
Indeed, the Japanese virtual world has turned out just like the real one.
People rarely give their first names to those they don't know well. Spontaneous exchanges are uncommon even on the tightly packed trains and streets of Tokyo. TV news shows often blur the faces of those caught in background footage and photos to protect their privacy.
Takahashi, who joined mixi three years ago, keeps her profile hidden so that only users she specifically invites can see it. That list of online friends has expanded to nearly 300 people, only a few of whom she didn't first meet in person, but she has removed personal details and scaled down past postings.
"If I say too much, the wrong people will read it — it could get ugly," she says.
The penchant for invisibility has made it hard for Western social networks to establish themselves. Belated forays into the Japanese market by Facebook Inc. and News Corp.'s MySpace, for instance, have failed to generate much of a buzz.
Google Inc., which operates YouTube, has tried to convince the Japanese to loosen up, running events in Tokyo in which girls in miniskirts roam the streets with giant picture frames and video cameras, soliciting pedestrians to frame themselves and record a clip for the site.
But it has since eased back on such efforts. YouTube's latest campaign in Japan involves people uploading pictures of their pets.
"We can't change the mindset of Japanese people," says Tomoe Makino, in charge of partner development at YouTube's Japan site. "It's the uniqueness of Japanese culture — anonymous works in Japan."
It wasn't always like that. When mixi was launched in early 2004, many people registered with their own names and photos.
"It was all friends, or friends-of-friends, so you could easily search using real names, and it was easy to be found," Shibui says.
But mixi quickly grew in popularity, and was heavily featured in the media as it sped toward a public stock offering in 2006. New members can join only with invitations from existing users, but some people began to send out invites randomly. The circle-of-friends concept was broken, and existing users began to lock their profiles and withdraw behind anonymous user names.
Naoko Ito is a typical denizen of Japan's online scene.
The office worker's video clips of her cats running amok at her house are among the most popular on YouTube Japan. Her blog features daily pictures of the feline antics and is popular enough to have spawned a book deal. But she doesn't post her name and in five years of uploading images has only rarely shown her face.
She says Japanese are just not used to putting themselves in the spotlight, and in the rare cases she has uploaded her picture it has been to show she is like everyone else.
"I want people to feel that I'm a very normal person, nothing special, just someone who likes cats," she wrote in an e-mail.
The reluctance to reveal oneself online is coupled with a general distrust of those who do, and foreign sites like Match.com have had to adjust. The site has had a local office since 2004, and has added Japan-only features like identity certification to generate an atmosphere of trust.
"When we did research on Japanese consumers, we found that the No. 1 reason for not using online dating is that they don't know if people are real or not," says Match.com's Japan president, Katsu Kuwano.
Match has increased its paying users in Japan by tailoring its approach to better fit marriage-minded Japanese women, timing advertising campaigns with national holidays when they travel home and face pressure from parents to find a mate.
But Kuwano says even among the women hunting for a spouse on the site, only 40 percent are willing to post a picture of themselves, and men are far less likely to respond without getting a glimpse first.
The company hopes to make more people show themselves online by defining itself in a less Web-centric way, latching on to the broader "konkatsu" movement in Japan, in which people actively seek out marriage partners. Match has also held offline events at Tokyo restaurants.
Even if the Japanese Internet isn't a place to meet new people, the fixation with anonymity still has led to an explosion in self-expression — a sea change in a culture where strong opinions are usually kept to oneself. Anonymous Japanese bulletin boards like the massive 2channel are highly popular, with active forums popping up to discuss news events just minutes after they occur.
As is true elsewhere in the world, Japan's online anonymity can bring out the uglier side of human nature, but observers like the writer Shibui find that it is also freeing people to speak their minds.
"In using the Internet to anonymously talk about their troubles, or show off their strong points, or make people laugh," he said, "people in Japan can now interact based on what is actually being said, without worrying about who is talking."
http://www.iht.com/articles/ap/2008/09/26/business/AS-TEC-Japan-Shy-Internet.php
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Japanese jobless are turning red
September 20, 2008
Sydney Morning Herald
THEIR Vaseline-lens images simper from street corners. Their tinny mantras — blaring from minivan speakers around the country — invade homes at any daylight hour.
Campaigning was in full swing this week for the five politicians of Japan's ruling Liberal Democratic Party, vying for the vacated prime ministerial post. But there is one electoral demographic fading from their reach.
Part-time workers in their 20s and early 30s are so disillusioned with the Government that they have instead begun to swell the ranks of the Japanese Communist Party (JCP), which has taken on more than 10,000 new members in the past year.
The so-called freeter (freelance worker) and NEET (not currently engaged in employment, education or training) generation have stimulated a dramatic revival for the ageing core of the party.
The party chairman, Kazuo Shii, who encouraged the groundswell movement with a tough-talking parliamentary speech that became a YouTube hit, confidently expects another 20,000 recruits in the next 12 months.
That may not be such an impressive statistic for a leading party, but it is a dramatic turnaround for the JCP, which has been a political pariah in Japan for two decades.
In 1990, the party had 500,000 members, but by 2000 had lost a quarter of those. Over the next five years, the party watched its share of the general vote dwindle from 11.3 per cent to 7.3 per cent.
The trend is surprising for Japan, still associated in the West with the capitalist excesses of the 1980s bubble era and a continuing love affair with foreign luxury brands.
So great is interest in the JCP, however, that the main opposition party, centre-left Minshuto, believes it can help topple the troubled Government in a general election, widely tipped for November.
"Many struggling young people are tired of the way Japan is heading," says Mr Shii. "This year they have become attracted to our party as they see their plight reflected in Kanikosen."
Kanikosen (The Cannery Boat) is a seminal Japanese novel about proletarian life that has recently returned to the bestseller list. Written in 1929 by the Marxist author Takiji Kobayashi, it tells the story of a group of workers on a factory ship bound for Russian waters.
"We're going to hell!" one of them famously declares as they set out on their brutal mission, during which they are assaulted and exploited by their employers.
Kobayashi was tortured to death by Japan's special police four years after his classic was published. In 1953 the book was released in paperback and subsequently sold — mostly to university libraries and activists — at a rate of about 5000 a year. But since January, when it was cited in a leading newspaper, The Mainichi Shimbun, by the right-wing punk singer-cum-writer Karin Amemiya, it has sold half a million copies. "The situation it describes is exactly like those of today's freeters," Amemiya said.
The publishing company, Shinchosha, says the book is especially popular with Japan's legion of young workers who struggle to survive on low-paying and infrequent part-time shifts, while drifting between internet cafes and other makeshift accommodation.
The proportion of Japan's workforce categorised as part-time has increased from 38 per cent in 2001 to 44 per cent at the beginning of this year. The number of Japanese earning less than 2 million yen ($24,000) a year, meanwhile, has climbed to 10 million.
Some veteran JCP members are sceptical about the faddish interest in their party. As one 60-year-old told Japanese media: "I wonder if those who became members because they identify with a book will actually take an interest in party activities and vote in elections."
http://www.smh.com.au/news/world/japanese-jobless-are-turning-red/2008/09/19/1221331207174.html
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Izakaya
They are popular, casual and relatively cheap places for after-work drinking.
wikipedia
Monday, September 15, 2008
Japan's new professional seducers
August 31, 2008
The Sunday Times
This woman leads a double life. Her boyfriend thinks she’s a secretary. In fact she is one of Japan’s new breed of professional seducers, hired by embittered spouses to entrap their straying partners. And she’ll stop at nothing to get the desired results.
Case 1: Mr A and Kyoko
3.30pm. Mr A is outside a bank in a busy part of Ikebukuro, a faintly seedy area of Tokyo, waiting for his date. He beams as she teeters across the road on high heels. Kyoko, 20, is half his age. She has a mane of black hair, sloe eyes, a fetching smile and a cute giggle. Her blouse is open to reveal her cleavage and she has on a short skirt and sheer black tights. Mr A is a bald 40-year-old salesman in a crumpled grey suit and glasses.
Mr A met Kyoko by chance in the street; the first time she asked him for directions, then they bumped into each other again, and since then they have been exchanging flirtatious texts.
They stop off at a cigarette machine, then go to a cheap basement restaurant for spaghetti. He has bought her moisturiser and cleanser. She giggles coyly: “Next time, why don’t you give me a ring?” At 4.30 they’re outside a pawnbroker’s, looking at rings. Their shoulders touch, then they reach for each other’s hands.
They head for north Ikebukuro, an area of love hotels with velvet-covered walls, mirrored ceilings and sexy videos that rent rooms for two-hour periods. At 4.45 they go into one. They take a picture of the two of them on her mobile. At 6.07 they leave. At the station Mr A gives Kyoko a furtive goodbye kiss. Next time, he says, he’ll take her somewhere nice – a hot-spring resort maybe, or Tokyo Disneyland. Then he goes back to the office and, later, home to his wife.
Mr A doesn’t know that a team of private investigators is recording his every move. The boss, the ebullient Mr Tomiya, lurks behind a lamppost on the other side of the road and takes photographs as Kyoko meets Mr A. Tomiya’s equipment includes a packet of cigarettes and a pen, both of which are actually cameras. Shimizu, a heavy-set man with a bullet head and cropped hair, carries a black bag. It contains a camera with which he films continuously through a tiny hole in the bag. A third man acts as a lookout. They follow the couple down the street, dodging the crowds and sprinting across red lights, keeping far enough behind so as not to arouse suspicion but close enough so that Shimizu can film.
Mr A, who has been married for 20 years and has a son of 19 at university, is prone to violence and beats his wife. She confided in a male friend, whom she then fell for, but when she suggested divorce to Mr A, he simply hit her. In desperation she turned to the internet, where she found Tomiya and his company, GNC.
Kyoko, of course, is not the girl’s real name. She did not meet Mr A by chance and does not work for a design company, as he thinks. She is an agent paid to seduce him. She regularly texts the team from her mobile and has a couple of GPS devices in case they lose her. Shimizu is her bodyguard and will move in if there are problems. And the whole operation is paid for by Mr A’s wife, who gets an amply illustrated report every time an encounter takes place. The aim is to have Mr A fall so completely for Kyoko that he wants to marry her and asks for a divorce. Failing that, his wife will have a sizable dossier with evidence of infidelity to confront him with.
In Japan, if you have the money you can sort out virtually any problem in your love life. If you want to get rid of an unwanted spouse, retrieve a straying one, get back with an ex or even get together with someone you’ve seen but don’t yet know, there are companies that will help you, using all the technology and expertise in human psychology at their disposal. Not so long ago Japanese wives put up with any amount of infidelity and abuse. A divorced woman was shunned and unlikely to marry again. But these days “people want to be happy”, says Tomiya. The result has been an enormous increase in divorces and in companies such as GNC.
Tomiya founded GNC 16 years ago. It has branches across Japan. His staff perform all sorts of services, from trailing a straying spouse or looking into the background of a marriage or job candidate, to dealing with stalkers, domestic violence, sexual harassment, even hackers. But his main job is sorting relationship problems. In the past year alone he has dealt with 2,000 cases.
Jobs such as separating Mr A from his wife take an average of two to four months. For this the client pays £2,500 a month, plus expenses.
The first step is investigation: finding out as much as possible about the target’s daily habits, likes and dislikes. The spouse reveals what sort of person the target is likely to be attracted to – in Mr A’s case, young girls. The second step is to engineer a succession of meetings between the agent and the target. The third step is seduction.
Tomiya has women on his books to fit all tastes, from unintimidating secretaries and housewives to full-blown sirens like Kyoko, “a top-class agent”. “But,” he adds, “the most important thing is not looks but skill at talking.”
Kyoko finished school three years ago. She had seen TV programmes about girls who worked as temptresses and thought that might be a job for her. She found GNC on the internet. In the past three years she has taken on 50 or 60 cases. She works on four or five at a time, which means she could be having sex with all of them.
“It’s fun. I like seeing the underside of life,” she says, “and the money’s very good. I meet different targets every day. I’m not so keen on the old ones and I sometimes get to like the young ones. I sleep with all of them.” As for Mr A, “He’s not so bad. He’s bald, that’s all.”
Kyoko’s work, Tomiya emphasises, is not prostitution, as no money is handed over. She earns a basic salary of £2,000-2,500 a month, plus bonuses when a case is successful, which they usually are. She can earn up to £5,000 a month, has her own apartment and a boyfriend who thinks she’s a secretary. She’s never been threatened by clients. In any case, “I know the bodyguard is nearby.” As to whether she feels sorry for her victims or guilty at deceiving them, “It’s my job. I keep my feelings separate.”
Once the case is over, the young woman quietly disappears from the target’s life. He never discovers that she was an agent. If he is persistent, she says she’s moving to a far-off city. They text for a while, then he forgets her. If that doesn’t work, Tomiya arranges for a man who sounds like a gangster to phone or pay him a visit and tell him to take his hands off his girl. That always does the trick. Or – more cruelly – her mobile, the lifeline of their relationship, is simply cut off.
Case 2: Mrs B and Takashi
9pm. In a very different part of Tokyo, Mrs B is waiting for her date. She works in the glitzy Ginza district, near the new Gucci building, where they’ve arranged to meet. She’s 29 and wears a blue short-sleeved jumper over a sparkly low-cut blouse and pretty skirt. Her husband is away on business. The marriage isn’t going well; in fact, he asked for a divorce, but she refused. Even so, she’s nervous to be seeing someone else.
Mrs B met Takashi on the street. He had burnt his hand and was wearing a bandage – and she is in the medical business. When they met again, he asked for her mobile number. Their texts are perfectly innocent, but she’s noticed that whenever she texts he always replies at once.
The vehicle that pulls up is a cool white sports car. Mrs B’s husband has a BMW, but this is far more stylish. Takashi jumps out, opens the door and helps her in. He’s kind, considerate, gentle – everything she’s ever looked for in a man. As they drive, he chats in a light, amusing way. At 9.45 they are at Morimoto XEX, a smart restaurant in Tokyo’s fashionable Roppongi Art Triangle. Takashi clearly has taste. As they walk in, the staff chorus, “Welcome back.” She doesn’t know what the meal costs, but it must be upwards of £100 a head.
Afterwards they sit on leather sofas upstairs, enjoying dessert and smoking. He’s a little flushed with sake. She lets herself lean closer. What about driving to Yokohama, he suggests? He’s tall, elegant, louche. He has a jaded quality that is rather appealing despite the slightly worn suit and cheap shoes. The bandage is still on his hand. However did she get so lucky?
The young man on the leather sofa directly opposite is playing with his mobile, as everyone does. But he is filming the pair canoodling. The whole scenario has been carefully planned to suit her taste. The flash car is one of a fleet of company cars. The restaurant bill is paid by the company and ultimately by her husband.
“Girls like a bit of excitement,” says Takashi, “‘the thrill of doing something forbidden, the feel of their hearts going doki doki. For Mrs B it’s a thrill to be with a guy who isn’t her husband. She must know she’s taking a risk. But, you see, her husband has a girlfriend she doesn’t know about. So it’s best for them to separate – even though when I disappear she’ll be sad. If I thought about that too much, I wouldn’t be able to do my job.”
Takashi works for a company called ACYours. It was founded in 1997 by Mr Mishima, a rather sinister-looking character with a sparse beard, earrings and a tattooed arm. He explains solemnly that the business is all about helping people. “Before I started ACYours there were businesses that investigated affairs but none that helped solve problems. People get depressed about personal relationships and I wanted to help.”
His company, he says, provides counselling to people in unhappy marriages. He deals with some 6,000 couples a year. Of these, 300 are truly desperate: the husband wants to leave the wife and the wife doesn’t want to go, or vice versa. Counselling is not enough. As to whether he breaks the couple up or helps them stay together, it all depends on who’s paying the bill.
“I feel sorry for Mrs B,” Mishima shrugs, “but look at it this way: it could be she’s been causing him trouble for years.
“It’s much easier to seduce a man than a woman,” he goes on. “Women don’t have affairs for fun; for them it’s serious.” That makes it far more difficult to manipulate a woman than a man. Men are not suspicious when a lovely young girl starts chatting to them. Even a bald 40-year-old salesman in a crumpled suit with a cheap briefcase assumes he’s irresistible to women. Men are also much less hesitant about having sex with someone they hardly know.
A woman is less likely to think of herself as irresistible or to take it for granted that an attractive man will chat her up. She is more likely to be suspicious. Added to which, women are not usually satisfied with just sex – they want love.
Takashi has a sort of lounge-lizard charm.
“It’s more difficult with women in their early twenties,” he says. “Around 27 women start to enjoy sex. I specialise in women in their late twenties who enjoy sex.” He acquiesces modestly when asked if this means he’s pretty good at it.
“I do women up to 45,” he says. “By the time they’re 45 they’re not so interested in thrills. They just want to be together with someone.”
The secret, he says, is sensitivity. “Girls like men who are a little offbeat. Most men are prepared to be considerate to an extent. But girls like someone who can read their feelings.” When he texts Mrs B, the content is unimportant. It’s the fact that he replies straight away.
Takashi has been doing this job for five years. His wife doesn’t like it, “but the salary is high, so she doesn’t complain”. He works on three or four cases at a time; he can make in excess of £3,500 a month. His five-year-old son thinks he’s a private eye who catches bad guys.
“It’s interesting learning how to get on with women,” he says. “It’s a very exciting job.
Case 3: Miss X and Mr C
9.30pm. As the sun sets over Tokyo, another case is about to reach its climax on a bridge across a spaghetti of railway lines. Mr C, a tall 30-year-old in a baseball cap, is waiting with a man in a suit. Mr C always used to wear suits; but the girl who dumped him likes the sporty look, so he’s had a makeover. He has also lost weight.
The pair haven’t seen each other for a year, after having been together for three years. The girl wanted to get married, but Mr C was a little reluctant, which turned her parents against him. She broke off with him, moved house, changed mobile number and disappeared from his life. Now he desperately wants to get back with her.
The second man, an agent from ACYours, texts his colleagues, two women agents who joined the ex-girlfriend’s gym some months ago, at the beginning of the operation, and befriended her. They often go shopping together or out for drinks or dinner. Tonight they are having dinner. In a few minutes they will walk across this bridge to the station to get the train home.
After much consulting of mobiles, the two men start to walk. Coming towards them are three young women. Only one of them – a pretty girl with hair dyed brown, in a dress and leggings – is unaware that a fateful encounter is about to take place. Nobody knows what the result will be. Will she turn away and walk off?
They are about to pass when he approaches her. “Aren’t you…? Isn’t it…?” She stops, laughs, expresses amazement. The two chat for a while. The man in the suit strolls away, as does one of the women. Then the client and the target exchange mobile numbers. The first contact has been made.
Bringing separated people back together is altogether more complicated – and more expensive. It also takes longer. ACYours charges £7,500 for three months for breaking up, but £12,500 for bringing together. In some ways the procedure is the same, explains Mishima.
The first step is to ascertain whether the target has a new lover. If the target is a wife or girlfriend, “We investigate her lover and send a female agent to seduce him. The lover falls for the female agent and leaves the target,” Mishima says. “Very often it’s not that the target wants a divorce but that she’s blinded by love and wants to get together with this new lover. If that ends, she’ll return to her husband. In other words, the desire to be with the lover is much stronger than the desire to separate from the husband.
“But it’s not enough to separate the wife from her lover. We also have to investigate why she was not happy with her husband. Maybe the sex was no good. Maybe his salary has decreased or he gambles or spends all his money on drink. The husband needs to tell us all the bad things he’s done and that his wife has complained about.
“Next we improve the husband. If he has stopped taking the wife out, we advise him to surprise her with presents on their anniversary or her birthday or take her to a nice restaurant. If it’s the wife who wants to get back with her husband, we try to make her more attractive.
Case 4: Yuko and Hiro
Yuko is a pretty woman in her late twenties who glows as she speaks. Last May she met Hiro, a tailor, at a party. They liked each other and got together after three months. But then one of her parents became ill and she had to move back to the parental home outside Tokyo.
Hiro met someone else. Yuko had been hoping they would get married. She got in touch with Hiro and said, “Let’s give it another try,” but he said he liked the new girl he was seeing. Yuko was distraught.
“I searched on the internet and found GNC and went to see Mr Tomiya. He told me not to worry. I was so happy to hear that. I’d been crying and crying. Mr Tomiya sent an agent to Hiro to have a suit made. The agent went again and again for fittings and the two became friends. One night Mr Tomiya, the agent and Hiro went drinking. I was in a different bar with a female agent. The male agent called the female agent as if they were lovers and said, ‘Come and join us.’ So I went along too. Hiro was pleased to see me but a bit shy. He was still seeing the other girl.”
Yuko happily reveals that with the help of GNC she had a complete change of image. For a start, she lost 10 kilograms. She used to come across like an old woman with her unflattering hairstyle and shapeless clothes. Now she has a chic layered cut that emphasises her impish looks, and wears sexy clothes and pretty jewellery.
“I’ve also changed the way I am,” she says.
“I used to be tough, but I’m softer now, more feminine. Mr Tomiya boosted my confidence.
I made lovely bento for Hiro and took them to his shop. Eventually he left the other girl and said, ‘Let’s get back together.’
“We went to Guam in May and he proposed! We’re getting married at Christmas.”
The whole operation cost £2,500. “Not expensive at all,” Yuko declares, beaming. “because I got him back!”
Tomiya has ambitions to open a branch of GNC in Britain. Perhaps in the land of Bridget Jones, we could use his services.
Some names have been changed to protect identities.
Lesley Downer’s latest book is The Last Concubine (Bantam, £12.99). It is available at the BooksFirst price of £11.69, including p&p. Tel: 0870 165 8585
http://women.timesonline.co.uk/tol/life_and_style/women/relationships/article4619389.ece
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Japan: Advertising's Eastern Enigma
14 March 2008
Campaign
From zen to zany, Japanese ads are always extreme. Robin Hicks asks two top creatives to explain the cultural zeitgeist.
Japanese advertising has a habit of leaving the uninitiated foreigner in a state of total bewilderment. A bunch of asparagus suspended in midair next to a parking meter, for instance. What? Why? How?
Switch on the TV, and ads lovingly crafted from zen images of peaceful grassy mountainsides are abruptly followed by 15 seconds of headache-inducing madness, in which a celebrity shrieks a brand's name with machine gun-like repetition.
Luckily, two big-hitting Japanese creatives, Yoshihiro Sato, the Dentsu creative director, and Yasumichi Oka, the former Dentsu creative director, who recently left to set up Tugboat, are on hand to explain why Japanese advertising is so, well, different.
Q: What do you think foreigners think of Japanese advertising?
Yoshihiro Sato: That it doesn't make sense. But then it's impossible for foreigners to understand it using imaginations alone. It's only when you have lived in Japan will you have a clue as to what it's all about.
Yasumichi Oka: It's very difficult for foreigners to get under the skin of Japanese advertising. And the 15- second TV spot - the currency of TV advertising in Japan - is probably to blame. It's hard to tell a story in such a short time, and the answer has been to use celebrities to make an impact. And, of course, to a foreigner, a Japanese celebrity is just a stranger grinning next to a strange product.
Q: Japan is only just emerging from ten years of recession. Has creativity been able to recover from the "lost decade"?
Sato: The past ten years has not been time wasted. Yes, ad budgets have tightened, leading outside observers to believe the industry has gone into reverse. But it hasn't. The industry has been forced to look at new ways of doing things, which is a good thing.
Oka: Japan has not recovered from recession yet. Stock prices have not rebounded, and GDP growth has not risen above 0 per cent since the turn of the century. Curiously, though, I think creativity has been sheltered from the economic malaise.
Q: Japan is unique in that a few local giants - primarily Dentsu and Hakuhodo - dominate the agency scene. Not only creative and media, but media ownership, too. That can't be healthy, can it?
Sato: Creative pitches are decided on creativity, not media commission or discounts. It's a mistake to think otherwise. Yes, clients like to pool media buying through larger agencies, but they are free to hand creative duties to smaller shops. Advertisers increasingly want more than just a "creative" solution, with creative and media blending together, so having everything in-house can only be a good thing. This is true integration. It is an effective and healthy business model.Oka: Advertising in Japan is all about media muscle. A handful of local agencies with enormous media capital have forged formidably strong ties with the media vendors. More control over media means more commission for the agencies. For them, at least, it's a virtuous circle. There is no Sapin Law here. So creative pitches, more often than not, boil down to which agency can create a campaign for less. This is a huge disadvantage for a small shop like ours - we have no ties with media owners. We can come up with a great idea to build a brand, but aren't able to offer clients discounts.
Q: Will Japan's smaller agencies ever be able to compete with the bigger guns?
Sato: Not in terms of media-buying clout, no. The big guns have the edge on talent, too. There is a clear gap between big and small agencies in the number (8,000 people work in Dentsu's Tokyo office alone) and range of people with the skillsets for "modern", integrated communications. But Dentsu often partners with specialist planning or creative boutiques. We give them the chance to be recognised.
Oka: There are two local independent creative agencies in Japan: us, and Kaze to Rock. If the number grew to ten, advertisers may start considering alternatives. But, currently, they are facing a depressing lack of choice.
Q: Japanese agencies haven't enjoyed much success abroad. Why do you think that is?
Sato: I've noticed that Japanese delegates at awards shows outside of Japan form little groups and don't mingle with foreigners, which can't help our reputation. Japanese creatives have only made ads for their own market for so long that it has become ever harder for them to apply their skills overseas. And it's hard for non-Japanese to judge creative work that is targeted at a homogenous society such as Japan. Foreign agencies haven't had much success in Japan, either. But this is changing, as are Japanese agencies' fortunes abroad, particularly in China and other Asian markets. They are learning as they go which Japanese methods work, and which don't.
Oka: They aren't adept at brand building or producing creative ideas, certainly not those that cross borders. And unlike multinational agencies, they haven't followed clients overseas. They didn't feel the need to. If they had focused on supporting their clients abroad rather than at home, they could have established unique businesses and given their western rivals a run for their money.
Q: What is the best piece of advice you could offer to anyone who is thinking about launching an agency in Japan?
Sato: I wouldn't recommend it. It's tough for foreign agencies to make their ways of working, culture and style succeed in Japan. Coming to terms with the uniqueness of Japan takes a long time, and you'd have to ask yourself whether or not it's actually worth the time, effort and the money. Oka: Ruthlessly pursue a model built on creativity and great ideas. That's the only way to succeed in Japan. Not until mass media has been replaced as the mainstream means of communication will agencies be able to compete on a level playing field.
At the moment, the industry is far too media-dependent. I just wish there were more start-ups in order to get advertisers thinking about more creative alternatives. Only then will a shift in power begin.
Q: Which advertising markets do Japanese creatives tend to look to for inspiration (if any)?
Sato: None. We look outside of advertising for ideas. Inspiration comes from human behaviour. Watching strangers having a conversation on the train, for instance. But the things that you hear and see don't instantly transform themselves into advertising ideas. First, you have to play with them in your mind.
Oka: I don't think Japanese advertising is inspired by any country but Japan. It's very unique.
Q: What would you say are the predominant creative themes in Japan at the moment?
Sato: Brands that talk to people on their level are cutting through. Lofty messages from above and servile ones from below are not.
Oka: It is, and always has been, "now on sale". The product lifecycle here is very fast.
Q: Are there certain things you shouldn't write ads about in Japan at the moment?
Sato: Talk of dos and don'ts of creative expression is nonsense.
Oka: Death is taboo. But I am trying to challenge this. The country's first baby boomers are starting to retire, and the market will be driven strongly by wealthy silver consumers. There will be strong demand for asset management and health insurance brands. Advertisers have to level with them. Death can no longer be ignored.
Q: Do you think that Japan is overly obsessed with celebrity?
Sato: Sure. It's nothing to be proud of. The reality is that using celebrities is highly effective here.
Oka: Absolutely. The 15-second spot is to blame. With so little time, celebrity + product = sales is the perceived wisdom of advertisers.
Q: Pick out the best, or the most unusual, ads around in Japan.
Sato: First, "becoming a new me" for Shiseido skin products, which is by Light Publicity. This TV spot follows a heartbroken girl washing off her make-up, then applying toner. As she applies it, her expression changes until she begins to smile. It's well directed, and the slogan "This moment. This life. Beautifully" is an elegant way of selling the product.
Also good is Light's ad for Kewpie Mayonnaise. The copy reads: "First it was the car, and then 100 years later, computers turned humans into a sedentary species", ie. vegetables. The idea is that city-dwelling Japanese should think carefully about their health.
Among other ads I like is Sun Ad's one for Suntory's Black Oolong Tea, another one that focuses on health, an important issue in ageing Japan. Hakuhodo's "everybody's Golf5" for Sony and a recent spot for Fanta also make my list.
Oka: Apple campaigns (iconic in Japan) aside, I've picked stuff that is very Japanese. I love Dentsu's TV ads for Recruit, a publisher of self-help magazines, which are very touching, and a wonderfully weird spot for Suntory's bottled green tea by Hakuhodo, which stars a plastic bottle in a period drama. Another Suntory spot for the drink Dakara, which stars a ballet-dancing piglet, is a charming example of how Japanese advertisers use characters to bring brands to life. All of these trigger an emotion and linger long after they have ended.
Lastly, it's not an ad campaign, but the rebranding of Toraya is worthy of mention. It's a good old Japanese confectionary store that has cleverly evolved to appeal to modern tastes.
Q: Japan is possibly the world's "coolest" country. What do you think it is that has made your country so fashionable?
Sato: It's said that the Japanese have many senses, and can see the world in great detail. Which means that we approach an issue from many different angles. This also means we express our feelings in unexpected ways. This is magnified in young Japanese who lack a focus in life, and have lots of pent-up energy. This energy, I believe, is a source of "coolness".
Oka: The secret is agelessness. Cartoons, comics and video games aren't just for kids in Japan, they're for all ages. Takashi Murakami encapsulates this. He's Japan's answer to Andy Warhol, famed for his cartoony paintings and giant inflatable balloons.
Japan: A yen for Japan's mature market
14 March 2008
Campaign
Ageing is no longer ignored in Japan and advertisers have found a new target market in retired baby boomers with cash to spend.
In Japan nowadays, the guy queueing for a Nintendo Wii is less and less likely to be a spotty teen with a space-age haircut. Chances are he's older than your dad.
The over-fifties are now the majority in Japan, and their cultural influence and buying power have forced brands to snap out of a chronic fixation with youth.
Nintendo designed the Wii with Japan's older generation in mind, recreating games such as tennis or golf for the living room.
At the Tokyo Motor Show, Nissan unveiled a concept car made for 'the Dankai generation' (baby boomers). The Intima saloon will have sliding doors and a roomy interior.
The latest models of the ubiquitous ketai (mobile phone) now come with larger buttons and clearer displays.
Even MTV, that stalwart of the 18- to 34-year-old demographic, is gunning for grey. Kazuhiro Shimada, the head of strategy at MTV Networks Japan, is seriously thinking of screening more Beatles than Backstreet Boys to woo oldies and bigger-spending advertisers. 'We are looking at introducing a nostalgic weekend segment for dads. We have Honda as an advertiser. But Toyota would be nice, too,' he says.
Could this have the same effect as Jeremy Clarkson did for Levi's 501 jeans? 'Yes, there is a risk that we could alienate our younger viewers,' Shimada concedes. 'But we can't afford to ignore the fast-growing older audience.'
Just as Japanese brands are rethinking their approach to older folk, so the elderly are rethinking what it means to be entering the twilight of their lives.
Ageing is no longer politely ignored in Japan, Dave McCaughan, McCann WorldGroup's Asia-Pacific strategic planning director, observes. Nor is it resisted. 'Old age has, believe it or not, become desirable,' he says.
According to McCaughan's new research ('Getting old isn't that bad'), the most attractive age for Japanese men is 37. For women, it is 31. 'The 'Christmas cake syndrome', when a woman's appeal is said to deteriorate at 25 (like a Christmas cake on 25 December) is dying off,' he says.
The age of Japan's most popular celebrities has increased by five years over the past decade, reveals the report. The most popular, the comedian Sanma Akashiya, is 51. No longer seen as doddery wrinklies, ageing men are said to acquire a 'masculine grace' and women a 'dignified glow'.
'Japan is shifting from a culture which values newness and youth to one in which people and things are valued more with the advancement of time,' McCaughan says.
This has not gone unnoticed by advertisers. Unilever is careful to avoid lingering on the age-slowing properties of its Dove Pro-age skin care range in its advertising. The latest campaign features the 60-year-old singer and actress Ryoko Moriyama.
'The message isn't about giving women beautiful skin per se. And Ryoko is not considered a particularly beautiful woman,' Naoko Ito, the associate planning director at Dove's agency, Ogilvy & Mather Japan, explains. 'She is famed for her spirituality and strength of character. We want Dove to be a celebration of inner beauty first, outer beauty second.'
Moriyama falls neatly into the Dankai bracket. Born between 1947 and 1949, Japan's baby boomers have started to retire, hitting the mandatory retirement age of 60. About 3.6 million more salaried workers will have retired by 2009.
However, most are not destined to be penny-pinching pensioners. From the age of 50, until they retire, salaries tend to grow quickly as a reward for company loyalty. At retirement, a bonus of about three times the final annual salary is paid in a lump sum. Then a steady pension kicks in.
But the Japanese are reluctant retirees. According to Japan's Institute for Labour Policy and Training, 61 per cent want to continue working after they hit 60. Many find other jobs. Very few don slippers and put their feet up.
'The baby boomers were part of Japan's economic miracle - the hardworking salarymen who made the country what it is today,' McCaughan notes. 'They were the first to taste Western popular culture. They were Japan's original rock 'n' rollers. And after going undercover for 30 years, they are re-releasing themselves.'
The big difference with Dankai is that, because Japan's sense of family is eroding, this is the first generation not considered selfish for choosing not to leave everything to their children. 'Retirement used to be a euphemism for waiting for death,' McCaughan adds. 'Now it's about getting ready for the third stage of life.'
Last year, McCann ran a campaign for Cathay Pacific to lure lone, ageing Japanese to Hong Kong as a reward for hard work and to find their 'real selves'. TBWA is doing something similar for Nissan's Teana, the saloon on which the Intima is based, and the Tiida, a small car for older people, big on luxury and spaciousness.
But Japan's affluent seniors aren't the types to splash cash. A recent Japan Times report argues that baby boomers do not covet luxury. Only 4 per cent of older readers said they wanted a top-end compact car (like the Teana). But more than one-tenth wanted a camper van (to go travelling), while one-quarter fancied an eco-friendly hybrid.
'Sustainability is important. And besides good healthcare, they want nostalgia, art or a rewarding holiday; meaningful things,' Chris Beaumont, the president and chief executive of Grey Japan, says. 'This generation has known destitution. Why would they blow it on extravagances after a lifetime spent saving?'
Advertising to older consumers is rarely done well, Beaumont says - in Japan or in the west. 'Historically, seniors have only been marketed to by emphasising their age, if at all. Promising to recapture youth or apply the brakes to ageing is the wrong thing to do. The key is to think ageless,' he says.
Agencies that specialise in marketing to the aged have been popping up in Japan (there is only one of these in the UK: Millennium). But this model is 'strategically erroneous', Beaumont reckons. As is the notion that creatives are better at writing ads for people of a similar age. 'We have an outstanding creative who works on a youth brand who's 61.'
McCaughan, who has a planner researching the post-retirement market who has just turned 30, would agree. 'For the past 40 years ... the answer has always been to target the teen,' he says. 'In a sense, this shouldn't change. We need to start targeting the teen within everybody, regardless of age.'
AGEING JAPAN
- Of Japan's population of 127 million, 21 per cent are over the age of 65. By 2025, one in three Japanese will be over 65. The average age will be 50.
- People in Japan say they feel eight years younger than their physical age, according to research from Grey.
- Life expectancy in Japan is 82 years old, the highest in the world. In the UK, it is 78.
- The average Japanese man is 42 years old. The average Japanese woman is 45. The average age for British men and women is 38 and 40, respectively.
- Thirty-five per cent of Japanese men aged over 65 still work, compared with 10 per cent in Europe.
- Japan's baby boomers were born when GDP per person was lower than in the Philippines. They now hold financial assets worth pounds 650 billion - 10 per cent of Japan's overall assets.
- The typical Japanese baby boomer: wears a Uniqlo blazer and trousers, plays golf at the weekends, drives a Nissan GTR for pleasure, a Lexus to work, enjoys The Beatles, gardening and building model planes, and is trying to cut down on beer, whisky and sake, according to a report by Nikkei Business.
http://www.brandrepublic.com/Campaign/Features/Features/793574/Japan-yen-Japans-mature-market/
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Japanese Author Guides Women to 'Dignity,' but Others See Dullness
By NORIMITSU ONISHI
29 March 2008
The New York Times
TOKYO -- YOUNG Japanese women searching for a wider role in society have no role model today. The ideal of a self-sacrificing ''good wife, wise mother,'' according to a Japanese saying, belongs to the past. And fighting alongside the country's overworked and overstressed salarymen holds little appeal.
At least that was the view of Mariko Bando, 61, the author of a book that professes to be a guide for young women. With sales of more than three million copies, the book, ''The Dignity of a Woman,'' has become one of Japan's biggest sellers in decades and has presented Ms. Bando as just such a role model.
Ms. Bando has, to be sure, led a career considered ground-breaking for a Japanese woman of her generation. After graduating from the University of Tokyo, she became an elite bureaucrat, choosing to keep working even after marriage and children. She later became the deputy governor of a prefecture and then the first woman to serve as a consul general. She is now president of Showa Women's University here in Tokyo.
And yet, in her book, Ms. Bando focuses not on policy or diplomacy but on everyday issues. She gives tips on maintaining dignified manners, using dignified speech and wearing dignified clothes. Other chapters revolve around living and interacting with, of course, dignity.
A ''sophisticated'' strategy is necessary for women to get ahead in Japanese society, Ms. Bando said in an interview, making a snaking motion with her hands. Simply being aggressive, a quality she ascribed to American women, would not work.
''Japanese society hasn't matured enough yet to accept independent and aggressive women,'' she said during the interview, in her university office. ''That's the reality. So we have to think about how to become independent here. However, I did not write that we should be meek like women in the old days.''
Though fans have praised the book for its useful information, critics have complained that, in the guise of upholding dignity, it reinforces a traditional view of women. Why should women be required to know the names of flowers or be good cooks to be considered dignified, as Ms. Bando writes?
In the age of ''Hillary, Rice and Merkel,'' this book seeks to shape young women into traditional, subservient women of the distant past, Nanami Shiono, an author of history books, wrote in the monthly magazine Bungeishunju. ''I think this book is perfect for the mass production of dull women suitable for dull men,'' Ms. Shiono wrote. ''But why is it that, in Japan, a person who could not have become an elite bureaucrat by being dull is so keen on mass-cultivating dull women?''
Ms. Bando answers the critics by pointing to the popularity of her book, saying it resonates among young women searching ''for a way to live with dignity.''
THE success of Ms. Bando's book -- as well as of others with the word ''dignity'' in their titles in the last couple of years -- can be viewed as a backlash against the half decade of economic and political reforms under former Prime Minister Junichiro Koizumi. With Mr. Koizumi's emphasis on free markets, deregulation and competition, brash American-style entrepreneurs were briefly heralded as role models for a new Japan. But now calls for a return to so-called traditional, more dignified Japanese values are multiplying.
Anyone writing such a book exposes herself to scrutiny, and Ms. Bando recently took some gentle ribbing from a reporter from a youth-oriented television program who visited her home. In Ms. Bando's study, the television reporter noticed the drawers of a dresser, opened and bulging with clothes.
''I was cleaning up but wasn't able to finish before they arrived,'' Ms. Bando recalled.
Born in 1946, in the rural prefecture of Toyama, Ms. Bando grew up in a family that took to heart the American-inspired, postwar emphasis on the equality of the sexes, she wrote in an autobiographical essay in Bungeishunju. After college, she became the first woman to enter the Prime Minister's Office as a career bureaucrat.
Even as her female college classmates gave up working after marryin , she did not. Her husband, a salaryman, did not object, but told her flatly that he ''wouldn't help at all'' at home, she wrote. Her mother and father often came to Tokyo to help out with her two daughters.
After she landed at Showa Women's University, a publishing friend suggested that she write a book on Japanese women. Ms. Bando had an academic book in mind, but the publisher wanted a how-to volume geared to readers like her own students.
''Women are looking for a new way to live, not the way men do, but with dignity as human beings,'' Ms. Bando said. ''And I wanted to advise them.''
In her book, Ms. Bando starts with a brush-up on manners, emphasizing the importance of writing thank-you notes and keeping time. She advises against talking too fast or wearing designer clothes. She condemns the indignity of accepting free tissue paper handed out on Japanese streets and of hunting for bargain items in sales.
She counsels against trying to deliver too good a speech. ''First of all, being able to deliver a conventional speech is the requirement of a woman with dignity,'' she writes. ''Once that requirement is fulfilled, let's add a tad of personality.''
With friends, she recommends against sharing problems, saying it is best ''not to reveal one's weak and unattractive sides.'' Consultation by phone, anonymously of course, is preferable. Asking personal questions, like the occupation of a friend's husband or the children's school, is a no-no.
Male managers often address younger workers by adding the diminutive ''chan'' or ''kun'' to their names instead of ''san.'' But female managers should refrain from following that practice, she said, because Japanese men are very sensitive about their positions.
If the book reflects the survival strategies of a woman of Ms. Bando's generation, however, it also betrays its prudence -- little in the book would make conservative men uncomfortable.
BY almost every economic and social indicator, Japanese women trail their counterparts in other advanced nations. The system here, the laws, the workplace, are stacked against women, as Ms. Bando herself acknowledges.
Still, Ms. Bando is ambivalent about American society, what she perceives as its fierce materialism and individualism. She pointed to the futility of pursuing personal desires.
''For example, someone said that all romantic love turns into friendship within four years,'' she said. ''It's not certain that you'll feel psychologically satisfied by fulfilling personal desires like acquiring power or wealth, or marrying the person you love. Instead, many people fail and get hurt. The degree of satisfaction of the society, in total, may not increase.''
Nowadays, Ms. Bando believes that a ''society in which everyone can lead modest little lives isn't bad, though it's not an attractive way of thinking.''
''Things change,'' she said. ''There's a time when you're young, healthy and ambitious. Then when you're mature, you value a well-balanced life. Things change, in individuals and in societies.''
Japan, in the past, was more open to challenges, she said. ''But,'' she added, ''once you reach a certain level, challenges and competition aren't necessarily a plus anymore.''
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Japanese Women Shy From Dual Mommy Role
By Blaine Harden
28 August 2008
The Washington Post
"I have never met a Japanese man who did not want me to be his mommy."
That is the reason, Takako Katayama says, that she has not married. At 37, she has carved out a comfortable life here in Tokyo, with her own apartment, a good job at a cable television network, and a network of family and friends.
She has not closed the door on marriage and children. When she meets girlfriends for dinner, they ask each other, "Where are the good guys?" But she refuses to settle for a man who works long hours, declines to share in child-rearing and sees marriage mainly as a way to acquire lifetime live-in help.
"I want a mature, equal-partner kind of marriage," she said. "Anyway, there are complete lives without a baby."
Therein lies a dismal prognosis for Japan and for many of the other prosperous nations of East Asia. In numbers that alarm their governments, Asian women are delaying marriage and postponing childbirth.
In Japan, the percentage of women who remain single into their 30s has more than doubled since 1980. The trend is similar in Taiwan, Singapore, South Korea, and the booming Chinese cities of Shanghai and Beijing.
Feminine foot-dragging on the way to the altar has been identified by demographers as perhaps the primary reason for the region's plunging birthrates. Of the 10 countries or territories at the bottom of a 2008 CIA ranking of global fertility rates, six, including Japan, Taiwan, Singapore and Hong Kong, are in the Asia-Pacific region. South Korea also ranks near the bottom.
"Women on Strike," a recent report on Japan's falling birthrate by the securities firm CLSA, noted that the number of children per married Japanese woman has held steady for three decades. "This suggests that the decrease in fertility is due almost entirely to an increase in women of reproductive age not getting married and not having children," the report said.
Regional leaders are waking up to the growing reluctance of working women to complicate their lives with children -- and with husbands who refuse to help raise them. A very high percentage of Japanese women eventually do marry, but by postponing it they narrow the window for bearing children.
"We need to organize our society so that women and families will be able to raise children while working," Japanese Prime Minister Yasuo Fukuda said in an interview in May. "I think we still lack adequate efforts on that front."
This year, Fukuda's government is pushing a "work-life balance" program that addresses the country's famously punishing work ethic. It pressures companies to shoo workers (primarily men) out of the office at night. The intent is to improve the quality of family life and, in the process, make more babies.
The stakes are high here in the world's second-largest economy, which now has the world's highest proportion of people over 65 and lowest proportion of children under 15. According to a recent forecast, population loss will strip Japan of 70 percent of its workforce by 2050.
Like many other East Asian economies with a shrinking workforce, Japan desperately needs women to marry and have children while also continuing to work. But only about a third of women in Japan remain in the workforce after having a child, compared with about two-thirds of women in the United States.
Corporate discrimination against women, especially if they have children, remains rampant, despite laws that forbid it. Last year Japan ranked 91st in gender equality among 128 countries surveyed by the World Economic Forum.
Meanwhile, many Japanese men in their 30s continue to be consumed by their jobs. About one in four still works more than 60 hours a week. Just 0.5 percent of men take government-guaranteed parental leave. In Sweden, 17 percent do.
Most working women in Japan face a stark choice: the career track, in which they will acquire financial independence while remaining single and childless, or the family track, which makes them full-time mothers until they are in their mid- to late 40s.
Research on marriage in Japan shows that after a wedding, women have much less time of their own, while there is almost no change in the demands on men's time, said Yoshio Higuchi, a professor of workforce economics at Keio University in Tokyo. "The burden falls almost exclusively on women, and those single women who see that happening choose not to marry, for now, anyway," he said.
Higuchi said that in recent years, as single women have been sought after by a corporate Japan starved for young workers, they have gained more power and freedom in the workplace.
"For women, this has caused enormous change socially and mentally," he said. "Men, though, have not changed at all."
Katayama testifies to that. "Guys will allow a woman to express herself, but they do not want their position threatened," she said. "They want to stand above the girl."
Equally annoying, according to Katayama, is the rarely stated but almost universal expectation of Japanese men to be fed, clothed and picked up after. "I am willing to take care of and give comfort to a man whom I care about, but that does not mean I want to be his mother," she said.
Research here shows that after a divorce, men tend to feel unhappy and remarry quickly. Divorced women, though, are relatively happy and often delay remarriage.
Still, marriage remains almost universal in Japan. Only 4 percent of women older than 45 have never married. It is also exceedingly rare for women here to have children outside marriage (less than 2 percent of all births). The cultural taboo against single parenthood is far stronger than in the United States, where about 37 percent of births are outside wedlock. Cohabitation is also rare in Japan, and single women almost never adopt.
"I don't know why one would want a child so much," Katayama said. "In Japanese culture, the point is not to have children, but to have one's own children."
Social pressure on women to marry has clearly eased in Japan. But being an independent single woman still carries a stigma, even in Tokyo.
When Katayama bought her studio apartment in 2002, she did not tell many friends. "I knew that it would scare away guys," she said.
While "Sex and the City" is one of her all-time favorite TV shows, Katayama says she remains astonished at how its female characters brazenly prowl around for men. "There is still a foundation in us [Japanese women] that thinks hunting for a guy is not ladylike," she said.
Katayama is well informed about Japan's declining population and the catastrophic implications for the economy. She knows there is a national childbirth crisis. Still, she said, until she finds a man who wants a wife, not just a mommy, there is nothing she can do to help.
Special correspondent Akiko Yamamoto contributed to this report.
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2008/08/27/AR2008082703194.html
Tuesday, September 09, 2008
Japan suicide letters spell out risk of overwork
5 September 2008
Reuters News
TOKYO, Sept 4 (Reuters Life!) - "Don't go to work" reads a poem written by a Japanese boy for his father who killed himself after suffering from depression caused by working too much.
"Dad, I am no good," wrote a young Japanese engineer who committed suicide because he could no longer cope with work.
The letters are part of an exhibition in Tokyo organised by a mental health organisation to highlight the risk of "karoshi", or death from overwork, in a society that treasures hard work.
Titled "Inside me, you are alive now", the exhibition collects suicide notes, poems and testimonies from "karoshi" victims and their families.
Japan has one of the highest suicide rates in the world: more than 30,000 suicides every year since 1998. Last year, five times more people killed themselves than died in traffic accidents.
But less is known about the role of work in those suicides. A Health Ministry report last year notes a strong link between depression and habitual overwork of 80 hours or more over a few months. According to the ministry, 81 suicides were approved for work-related compensation last year, up 50 percent from 2003.
The author of the "Don't go to work" exhibit was seven years old when his father died. In his poem, he dreamed of creating a time machine to rescue his father.
BALANCING LIFE AND WORK
The engineer, Hiroto Komatsu, who worked for a major car manufacturer, jumped to death from the company building in 2002. In the month before his death, he worked a total of 315 hours, including 144 hours of overtime.
Komatsu's mother recalls her son would sleep on the floor wrapped in a blanket for fear he would oversleep and be late for work if he went to bed.
"Things are getting worse compared to 20 years ago," said the organiser of the exhibition, Tatsuhiko Ifuku. "But nothing will change if we just keep looking at this sad reality. Perhaps the bereaved family members have the power to change society."
The non-profit organisation behind the exhibition, dubbed the "Mental health counselling room for workers", began to display the letters in 2007. Most say death was the only way out of their agony and express their love and remorse to their families.
Ifuku came up with the idea of displaying the letters after learning about Hyuma Katayama, who killed himself in August 2005. The 25-year-old bank worker left an essay about his depression, which attracted interest after appearing in a literary magazine.
"I started searching for similar cases, and ended up with a list of 50 involving suicide from overwork," Ifuku said.
Sachiko Tanaka, whose police officer son killed himself three years ago, thinks overwork was one of the reasons.
"People say my son chose to die of his own will, but who would want to take their own life?" she said. She will petition the government this month to take the issue more seriously.
In recent years, there has been growing interest in the concept of a healthy work-life balance in Japan. Last December the government laid out a charter and an action plan to promote harmony between work and leisure.
Ifuku said more needed to be done.
"Big companies have to change. But Japan won't change unless society regulates excessive overwork," Ifuku said.







