Latest news with #Johatsu
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.
Time of India
2 days ago
- Time of India
Inside ‘Johatsu': The chilling Japanese phenomenon where people vanish without a trace
Live Events (You can now subscribe to our (You can now subscribe to our Economic Times WhatsApp channel Every year in Japan, thousands of people disappear without warning—a phenomenon known as 'Johatsu,' meaning 'evaporation.' These individuals deliberately abandon their families, homes, and identities, seeking a fresh start in complete by immense societal pressure, personal shame, or emotional trauma, those who become Johatsu often feel trapped. From crushing debt and abusive relationships to the intense expectations of Japan's work culture, the reasons for vanishing vary—but the goal is the same: disappear without a trace, many turn to specialized companies known as 'night movers.' These discreet services operate mostly under cover of darkness, helping clients relocate silently. They pack up belongings, transport them, and even assist in forging new identities—sometimes providing emotional support to help people begin again. Fees typically range from ¥50,000 to ¥300,000 ($450–$2,600).According to sociologist Hiroki Nakamori, who has studied Johatsu for years, the term first gained attention in the 1960s. He notes that Japan's deep respect for personal privacy, combined with limited police intervention in non-criminal disappearances, allows people to vanish almost effortlessly. 'In Japan,' Nakamori told the BBC, 'it's just easier to evaporate.'For families left behind, however, the experience is devastating. With no legal grounds for police to search unless foul play is suspected, loved ones are often left to hire expensive private investigators—or wait in despair. As one grieving mother told the BBC, 'With the current law, all I can do is check if a dead body is my son—that's all that's left for me.'Most Johatsu retreat to small towns, take low-profile jobs, and live under the radar. They avoid digital footprints and CCTV, creating new lives in the shadows. While some find relief and freedom, others struggle with loneliness, fear, and the stigma of their journalist Léna Mauger, who has investigated Johatsu cases, estimates that nearly 100,000 people disappear in Japan each year. Many battle depression, addiction, or the crushing shame of divorce and bankruptcy. For some, the idea of facing loved ones after a failure is too much to offers an unsettling glimpse into the darker side of Japanese society—where emotional suppression, honor, and shame can drive people to erase themselves entirely. It's a haunting reminder that beneath the surface of even the most orderly societies, people may be quietly collapsing under the weight of those who vanish, Johatsu is not just an escape—it's a rebirth. But it comes at a price: a life of isolation, secrecy, and the ever-present risk of being found.
Indian Express
3 days ago
- General
- Indian Express
Know all about this phenomenon from Japan, where people just ‘evaporate'
In a country renowned for its order, punctuality, and strong sense of societal obligation, the idea of people deliberately disappearing without a trace sounds like a script from a thriller. However, in Japan, this phenomenon has a name: Johatsu (蒸発), meaning 'evaporated people.' Far from being mere myth or urban legend, Johatsu represents a complex socio-cultural phenomenon involving people who intentionally vanish from their lives — leaving behind families, jobs, and identities — to escape debt, shame, abuse, or simply to start anew. The term first emerged in post-war Japan and continues to baffle and intrigue sociologists, journalists, and the global public alike. In Japanese, Johatsu literally means 'evaporation,' originally used to describe people who disappeared during the chaotic post-World War II years. Today, it refers to those who voluntarily vanish from society, often leaving little to no trace. According to The Japan Times, the term gained traction during Japan's economic crises in the 1960s and 1990s, when people burdened with shame — from bankruptcy, job loss, or divorce — opted to vanish rather than face social judgment. A report from the Chinese state news agency Xinhua found that in 2022 alone, Japan recorded 84,910 missing person cases, marking a second consecutive year of increase. Johatsu is deeply rooted in Japan's collectivist culture — where personal failures are often internalised as disgraceful not just for the individual, but for the family. People may choose disappearance over confrontation for a variety of reasons: Unlike in the West, where going off the grid may be a rebellious or spiritual act, Johatsu in Japan is more about silently opting out — a protest against a society that often equates failure with shame. In a country with one of the world's most advanced surveillance and ID systems, you might wonder: How do people just vanish? Enter Japan's 'yonige-ya' or 'night moving companies.' These discreet services specialise in helping clients disappear overnight, transporting them and their belongings under the cover of darkness. They don't ask questions, and they operate within a legal grey area. According to a 2017 article by TIME, such companies charge anywhere between ¥50,000 to ¥300,000 (approx. $400–$2,500), depending on the complexity of the case. Mind you, this was before the pandemic. In some instances, Johatsu individuals resurface in Sanya (Tokyo) or Kamagasaki (Osaka) — known as 'liberated zones' where IDs aren't strictly checked and day-labour jobs can be secured without background scrutiny. According to Leo Rubinfien's photographic project 'Wounded Cities', and Léna Mauger & Stéphane Remael's book 'The Vanished: The Evaporated People of Japan', it's estimated that as many as 100,000 people a year attempt some form of social disappearance in Japan Some Johatsu eventually return home, years later, often to find that their absence was quietly absorbed into family shame or silence. Others live out their lives in anonymity. But the stigma remains. Even family members often choose not to search, fearing embarrassment or disgrace. The Japanese term 'murahachibu' (村八分) — meaning social ostracisation — still carries emotional weight in rural and urban communities alike. In understanding Johatsu, we aren't just peeking into Japanese culture — we're confronting the universal human need for escape, dignity, and sometimes… disappearance.
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.
