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News.com.au
17 hours ago
- Entertainment
- News.com.au
Jōhatsu: Inside the mysterious phenomenon of Japan's vanishing people
Ever wanted to disappear? Maybe you're drowning in debt. Or your toxic job is grinding you into the ground. That loveless marriage. There are many reasons why people can feel the urge to vanish. For good. But in Japan, these people all go by the same special name. 'Johatsu'. The evaporated. They choose to abandon everything – their lives, jobs, homes and families – for a chance to start again. It's a real-life vanishing act. Disconnected from their past, these lost souls can spend decades in the shadows of society. Without ever looking back. Since the mid-1990s, Japan has recorded around 80,000 Johatsu each year. It's a dark mirror on the invisible pressure these people face to conform. But where do they go? What happens to who they leave behind? And what can it teach us about missing people in Australia? Shame of failure Johatsu: Into Thin Air is a recent documentary charting this mysterious phenomenon. It took Berlin-based film makers Andreas Hartmann and Arata Mori over six years to complete the sensitive project. To protect the privacy of the Johatsu, the movie was released under strict conditions: it will never be publicly screened in Japan. It's screening in Melbourne next month. Mori, who was born in Japan, told the idea of Johatsu is universal – despite its unique cultural roots. 'We've all thought about disappearing from our lives before,' said Mori. In Japan, this desire can be driven by infamously high social expectations. The shame of failing to meet them – through divorce, debt, job loss or failing an exam – can feel like a stain that will never be wiped clean. This includes a workplace culture where quitting is considered shameful. Despite demands to work hours so long they can be deadly. The pressure to conform to such norms is so powerful, evaporating feels like the only solution. Under cover of darkness Despite running away from everyone, the Johatsu don't go it alone. In fact, they turn to what's called a 'night mover'. It's the job of the night movers to spirit people to new, secret locations under cover of darkness. They're all about doing things discreetly. Night movers can make their job look like an abduction. Make homes look like they've been robbed. And make paper trails or financial transactions go away. It's a whole economy for those who want never to be found. And while the johatsu might be shrouded in mystery, the night movers are not hard to find. With easily accessed websites and offices, they operate in plain view. As for the people the Johatsu leave behind? There's a service for them, too. Just don't expect it from the boys in blue. Unless a crime occurred, police refuse to get involved. 'It can be very difficult to get assistance from the local police due to Japanese privacy laws,' says Hartmann. 'Many people seek assistance from private investigators to help find missing people. This is basically the opposite of a night mover.' 'Rather die' Japan has a rich cultural history of saving face. 'Japan has a long history of people killing themselves to preserve their honour,' says Mori. 'Even now, you still hear of it happening. These people would rather die than live in shame.' Disappearing is an attractive alternative. While it may put their families through the pain of uncertainty, at least it protects them from the crushing costs of suicide. In Japan, relatives become liable for a suicide's debt. They may also be hit with huge fees from the management of the building or train from where they meet their fate. 'While Johatsu can be seen as a form of suicide, they're in fact opposites,' says Mori. 'Johatsu is the act of choosing not to die but live.' Not the end of the story Indeed, the belief in a fresh start speaks to hope as much as despair. But it's not the end of the story. Into Thin Air paints a bleak picture of evaporated life. Some Johatsu live in tiny, squalid accommodation, and work dodgy, off-the-books jobs. Opening up this experience in itself can be cathartic. 'It was an opportunity for these people to finally share their story, which they have kept to themselves for a very long time,' says Hartmann. 'The filmmaking was a kind of therapy for them.' This therapy can be sorely needed. Because the feelings of sadness and regret haunt the Johatsu long after they leave their lives behind. 'Their second lives are of course not totally happy ones, but there is something positive about it,' says Mori. Ambiguous loss Some Johatsu long for what they lost, watching their families as if from behind a frosted glass door they can never open. It's no less painful than what their families endure themselves – a unique kind of grief known as 'ambiguous loss'. Without knowing where Johatsu go, they never get closure. And this dark cycle can repeat itself. 'We've also noticed that disappearances in families are repeated in cycles,' says Hartmann. 'Many relatives of the disappeared go on to disappear. Or the disappeared turn out to have a parent go missing growing up. One Johatsu in the film is under the hallucination she is being stalked. But for others, the threat– a stalker, gangster or knife-wielding ex – is very real. The documentary opens with a stense scene in which a man fleeing a possessive partner is bundled inside a night mover's van. 'These people are often fleeing debt, domestic violence, the mafia or family problems' Hartmann says. 'They simply want to start afresh in a new place where nobody knows them.' But often, Hartmann said the Johatsu were simply motivated by a consuming sense of alienation. 'Sometimes people just don't feel they belong.' Cautionary tale Japan is the perfect place to disappear. Unlike Australia, the country has no national database for missing people. It's also against the law for police to access ATM transactions or financial records without a warrant. 'The great value of privacy makes Japan an ideal place to lead an anonymous life,' says Hartmann. The idea of the Johatsu is not foreign to Western Cultures. In the US, Hartmann refers to a crisis management professional who helps celebrities disappear. He also says Japanese night movers are now helping people relocate overseas. With costs of living and working hours climbing in Australia, we're not immune to the danger of a disappearing trend. With costs of living and working hours climbing in Australia, we're not immune to the danger of a disappearing trend. That's where the most potent message of Into Thin Air – that it's never too late to reconcile – can bring hope. After almost four decades after disappearing, one Johatsu in the film is seen reconnecting with his family. 'This story showed us there's always hope for reconciliation,' says Hartmann. 'We would be very grateful if anyone watching this film got a new perspective on their problems,' Mori.
The Guardian
24-02-2025
- Entertainment
- The Guardian
Johatsu review – poignant account of Japan's ‘voluntarily disappeared'
'Johatsu' means evaporation in Japanese, and is used to refer to those people who choose to disappear, severing all ties with their past lives and their families. It became a phenomenon in Japan in the 1960s, and intensified during the 1990s as the country struggled with a debt crisis. While some plot their departures on their own, others call on the services of 'night movers': companies that help people vanish without trace. Following the owner of one such business named Saita, Andreas Hartmann's and Arata Mori's poignant documentary surveys the circumstances that drive people to desperate measures. Unfolding like a suspense thriller, the opening sees a man hurriedly get inside Saita's van, his voice trembling with fear. Unable to cope with a possessive partner, he finally manages to flee. Interviews with Saita's other clients reveal that, besides financial catastrophes, domestic abuse is often a catalyst for escape. At the same time, the reasons for a disappearance are not always clear-cut, and the film not only lends an ear to the 'evaporated' but is also sympathetic to the abandoned, who are left with gnawing questions and no answers. The juxtaposition of intimate interviews and static shots of nondescript Japanese towns adds another element of melancholy. These compositions show how johatsu is not just an individual decision but a manifestation of larger societal issues. Interestingly, since the subjects only agree to participate on the condition that the film will never be screened in Japan, their new homes and identities are carefully obscured. But in an age when a film can travel far and wide virtually, it remains to be seen whether such measures are enough to protect their anonymity. Johatsu is at Bertha DocHouse, London, from 28 February.
