by Andrea Ferrario

Only 17.5% of Japanese citizens currently hold a valid passport. This reflects not only the weakness of the yen but also the forced withdrawal of the younger generations. To combat this growing isolation, new solidarity initiatives are emerging, as well as corporate and technological responses. But the social framework remains stuck.

Milan (AsiaNews) - Among the most advanced economies, Japan is today one of the countries most reluctant to look beyond its borders. Only 17.5% of citizens have a valid passport, a percentage that is steadily declining, in contrast to South Korea and Taiwan, where it exceeds 40% and 60% respectively.

The most immediate and simplistic explanation is the devaluation of the yen and the rising cost of international travel, but behind these factors lies a deeper trend marked by a growing inward turn.

It is not only international mobility that is declining, but also the willingness to participate in community life and to engage outside private or corporate spaces. This disinterest in the outside world seems to reflect a widespread sense of fatigue and disillusionment, particularly among the younger generations.

This attitude emerges in forms that are only apparently unrelated. More than 40% of people between the ages of 20 and 34 say they have no friends to talk to about their problems, according to a 2022 survey by the Japanese Ministry of the Interior, and in the same age group, 70% of men and 60% of women are not in a romantic relationship.

Those who work in large technology companies find themselves working up to 80 hours of overtime per month, of which only the first 40 hours are paid, while the rest is classified as “service overtime”.

A young female worker interviewed by Aera magazine described the morning routine of many of her colleagues as an exercise in “expression management”, in which tired faces are transformed into professional smiles as soon as they cross the office threshold.

Such behaviour is often interpreted as apathy or individualism, but in reality it is a strategy for adapting to an economic system that no longer provides certainty. The model of lifelong employment with a single company, which guaranteed security and salary progression based on seniority, has given way to increasingly precarious forms of employment.

The percentage of permanent workers has fallen from 81% in 1990 to 63% in 2021, while in the 20-34 age group, flexible contracts have risen from 17% to 36%. When the economy can no longer offer stability, people tend to minimise emotional and economic risks, carefully calculating every form of commitment.

From loneliness to solidarity

However, the progressive individual withdrawal that characterises Japanese society does not exclude the emergence of new forms of solidarity and collective action. In recent years, various youth organisations and local groups have sought to respond to the growing sense of isolation and precariousness with initiatives that combine material support and political awareness.

One example is POSSE, which started as a student organisation and is now active in various cities, offering free advice to precarious workers and managing a food distribution network for those in economic difficulty.

Through these activities, POSSE combines immediate assistance with awareness-raising on labour rights, creating spaces for listening and participation for young people, migrants and people excluded from social security networks.

At the same time, the same organisation has developed shared agriculture and food recovery projects, which aim to build forms of self-sufficiency and local collaboration.

These experiences seek to counteract market logic by valorising discarded products and promoting direct distribution. Collective cultivation thus becomes a way to reflect on the fragility of the economic system and environmental inequalities, attracting students, young workers and professionals in the agricultural sector. Around these initiatives, a new idea of civic engagement is taking shape, rooted in concrete solidarity that is more immediate than traditional protest campaigns.

While these experiences are taking root at the local level, part of the same youthful energy is seeking expression in the political sphere, but in very different directions.

Just as traditional social and political structures are weakening, there is a renewed interest in electoral participation among young Japanese people. However, this momentum is not translating into a strengthening of the more progressive parties, but is fuelling the rise of far-right forces such as the Democratic Party for the People and Sanseito, which have gained significant support among the under-40s.

Their success reflects the malaise of a generation that feels unrepresented and is attracted to messages that promise protection and redemption, even if they are based on nationalist or anti-pluralist rhetoric.

A similar mechanism had already characterised the era of former Prime Minister Shinzo Abe, who was able to present himself as an innovator and defender of young people while remaining closely tied to the interests of large economic and bureaucratic groups.

The rhetoric of change that accompanied his governments, and which is now being revived in more radical forms by the new parties, risks translating youth dissatisfaction into a consensus that consolidates, rather than undermines, the existing power hierarchies.

Partial responses to discontent

The fact that some Japanese companies have sought to respond to the crisis in the relationship between workers and management by introducing internal participation systems that simulate a redistribution of power confirms that the desire for renewal is widespread.

In companies such as Nobitel, which runs stretching centres, employees elect managers by electronic vote, while in a company such as Sakura Kozo in Sapporo, workers can evaluate their superiors and request a transfer to another department.

These measures have helped to reduce staff turnover and improve the working environment, but they do not affect the precarious nature of employment relationships.

The ability to choose a boss or participate in hierarchical evaluation does not change the fact that many remain bound by fixed-term contracts and stagnant wages. The underlying problem remains the structural transformation of the Japanese labour market, where the end of the stable employment model has eroded protections without creating credible new forms of economic security.

In parallel with corporate experiments, the use of artificial intelligence has also been presented as a response to loneliness and social distress. In the city of Hachioji, on the outskirts of Tokyo, a pilot programme has introduced a chatbot designed to offer companionship to the most isolated residents, with results that have attracted national attention.

Similar experiments, both public and private, promote virtual assistants capable of conducting simulated emotional interactions. However, behind the image of a “human” and reassuring innovation, these tools reproduce a logic similar to that of participatory corporate reforms, proposing individual solutions to collective problems and replacing real relationships with artificial contact.

Even initiatives that highlight their therapeutic potential, such as university projects to stimulate memory in the elderly, avoid addressing the root cause, namely the progressive loss of authentic social spaces and bonds.

The overall picture paints a society in which solidarity is fragmented into isolated and often contradictory attempts. Grassroots initiatives manage to offer immediate support, but remain marginal, while corporate and technological innovations, although presented as solutions, end up adapting to the logic of precariousness rather than overcoming it.

In this context, the apparent detachment of the younger generations is not a sign of indifference, but a lucid response to a system that offers no adequate prospects.