Author: Jawana Kamal

Karoshi: The Problems with Japan’s Work Culture

A colorful, busy street in Osaka, Japan.
Image 1: Dotonbori Street in Osaka, Japan, Source: Yahoo Images

Japan is famous for its blend of traditional and modern customs, rich culture, and revolutionized technologies. The country has drawn in millions of foreign nationals for its high quality of life, safety, and efficient public transport—but perhaps especially for its employment opportunities.

About 3% of Japan’s workforce consists of foreign workers, having quadrupled in the past 15 years to 2.05 million. On the other hand, Japan’s population has been shrinking, with a steadily declining birth rate and rapid aging. There are many proposed causes for this crisis, including dwindling marriage rates, but it is worth noting the socioeconomic pressures that stem from high living costs, unfavorable job prospects, and a rigid corporate environment.

The labor shortage that Japan faces poses a major threat to its economy—and its historically unforgiving work culture likely plays a big role.

Work Culture in Japan

Work is a highly valued aspect of life in Japan, and with it comes the concept of company loyalty. This can be demonstrated by working many hours overtime; these hours are expected and sometimes even contracted. According to data by Japan’s health ministry, 10.1% of men and 4.2% of women worked over sixty hours a week in 2022.

Tim Craig, a researcher of Japanese culture, said that there is a certain social pressure associated with working overtime hours: “If they go home early, then their colleagues will (a) look askance at them, and (b) have to work more to cover for them. Either way, it’s not a good feeling.”

While Japan’s 2018 Workstyle Reform Act outlawed working more than 45 hours of overtime in a single month, it’s not uncommon for companies to force their employees to hide their true working hours or for employees to even do so of their own accord.

Additionally, only 7% of companies give their employees the legally mandated one day off per week. Japan has been trying to push a four-day work week since 2021, but it will take much more to entirely dismantle the deep-rooted idea that employees must give all of themselves to their company in order to thrive—Panasonic, one of the country’s leading companies, offered the option to 63,000 employees, and only 150 opted in.

A man asleep in a chair in an empty subway stop.
Image 2: A man asleep in a subway station, Source: Yahoo Images

Some companies employ shady business practices, operating what lawyers and academics call a “bait-and-switch” policy: employers will advertise a seemingly normal full-time position with reasonable working hours. The prospective employee is then offered a non-regular contract with longer hours and no overtime pay. If the employee refuses the job, companies might tell them that they will be given regular contracts after around six months. Younger applicants and women are particularly vulnerable due to a lack of experience or settling while trying to re-enter the workforce.

Another common issue is power harassment, which a reported third of the workforce has experienced. This is a common form of workplace harassment that has garnered attention across the past several decades and specifically involves someone in a higher position of power bullying a lower-ranking employee.

In 2020, the Power Harassment Prevention Act took effect, which outlines six types of power harassment, requires companies to take proper action against allegations of harassment, and ensures that workers aren’t dismissed for submitting complaints. However, Nikkei Asia reported in 2021 that complaints about workplace abuse had climbed to 88,000 cases a year, more than tripling in the past 15 years.

While these circumstances are not specific to Japan, they have certainly contributed to a phenomenon that was first identified there: karoshi, or death by overworking.

The History of Karoshi

Karoshi was first recognized in the 1970s and is a sociomedical term used to refer to fatalities or disabilities caused by cardiovascular attacks that are ultimately work-related. This includes strokes, cardiac arrest, and myocardial infarctions. The International Labour Organization’s case study into the phenomenon outlines the following typical case of karoshi: “Mr. A worked at a major snack food processing company for as long as 110 hours a week (not a month) and died from a heart attack at the age of 34. His death was approved as work-related by the Labour Standards Office.”

Related to karoshi is karojisatsu, which is suicide from overwork and stressful working conditions. This issue became prominent in the late 1980s—an economic recession during that decade forced employees who had managed to keep their jobs to work harder for longer hours to compensate.

Factors like repetitive tasks, interpersonal conflicts, inadequate rewards, employment insecurity, inability to meet company goals, forced resignation, and bullying create a psychological burden that has led countless workers to take their own lives. Japan’s white paper report revealed that in 2022, 2,968 people died by suicide linked to karoshi, an increase from 1,935 in 2021.

Hiroshi Kawahito, a workplace accident lawyer, told the Pulitzer Center in 2023 that he has worked on around 1,000 cases of karoshi during a 45-year-period, and despite repeated efforts by the Japanese government to combat suicide rates, he has not identified a significant change in the number of cases.

A group of Japanese citizens protesting karoshi on a street in Tokyo.
Image 3: A “No More Karoshi” protest in Tokyo in 2018, Source: Yahoo Images

He did note two concerning shifts over the course of his career: that karoshi-related suicide has become more common than cardiovascular attack, and that about 20% of his cases are now women, as they have begun to enter the workforce and experience sexual harassment at an overwhelming rate compared to their male counterparts.

A recent case of Kawahito’s from September 2023 involves the suicide of a 25-year-old actress from the musical theater company Takarazuka Revue, who was overworked and bullied by senior members. She logged a total of 437 hours in the final month of her life, of which 277 were overtime.

According to Kawahito, the actress worked without any days off for a month and a half and barely slept more than a few hours a night. Two years earlier, she suffered burns when a senior member pressed a hair iron against her forehead and faced immense pressure from the company. Kawahito claimed that “excessive work and power harassment damaged her physical and mental health, leading to her suicide.”

Governmental Response

Suicide was considered a taboo topic in Japan for decades; families affected were left with no outlet to cope with their loss. However, in 2006, more than 100,000 signatures were collected to push for legislation on suicide prevention, which led to The Basic Act of Suicide Countermeasures that went into effect the same year.

This act takes a three-pronged approach: social systems, local cooperation, and personal support creating relevant laws like the Act on Mental Health and Welfare. It provides support via relevant agencies at local and community levels, including hotlines and consultation services.

In 2016, the Basic Act was amended to require all prefectures and municipalities to establish local suicide prevention plans based on regional data collected by the National Police Agency. The General Principles of the Basic Act are also updated every five years to reflect current trends in suicide data.

The Work Style Reform Act of 2018 aims to promote a healthier work environment, setting overtime limits and establishing paid annual leave, as well as offering free consulting services and subsidies from the labor ministry. This has motivated the push for the four-day workweek, part of the ministry’s “innovating how we work” campaign.

Change might happen slowly in a society where values surrounding dedication and sacrifice are so deeply ingrained in its working population, but it is happening; between 2006 and 2022, the suicide rate has fallen by more than 35%. Efforts by the government to deter karoshi and combat the falling birth rate are in full swing and hope for a better future in Japan is still on the horizon.

The Aftermath of Mahsa Amini: A Glimpse into Women’s Rights in Iran Two Years Later

September 14th, 2024, marked two years since the murder of 22-year-old Mahsa Amini in Iran’s capital, Tehran. Amini was arrested by the “Gasht-e-Ershad,” also known as the morality police, who are responsible for enforcing Iran’s strict dress code. For women, this includes a head covering called a hijab and loose-fitting clothes.

Authorities claimed that Amini had worn her hijab “improperly”  and transported her to a detention center for a “re-education class.” Amini collapsed at the center later that evening and died three days later while in police custody.

Government officials claimed her cause of death was a heart attack. However, her family denied that she had any history of heart issues, and they were refused the chance to see her body before she was buried. Witnesses from the day of her arrest alleged that Amini was severely beaten in the patrol van—photographs and videos of Amini in the hospital corroborate this, indicating trauma to her head.

It’s unclear how she died, but it certainly wasn’t from a heart attack. Rather, Mahsa Amini was a victim of an oppressive regime that sought to tyrannize women in the name of religion.

 

A woman in an all-black outfit with a head covering standing in the grass.
Image 1: Mahsa Amini, Source: Yahoo Images

Nationwide Response and Iran’s Crackdown

Amini’s murder at the hands of the morality police caused international outrage and political unrest, a catalyst for the biggest uprising that Iran has seen since the 1979 Islamic Revolution. These protests were primarily led by women, a fiery rejection of a government that restricts the freedom of its citizens and meets resistance with violence.

Security forces used excessive or lethal force in response to demonstrations that were oftentimes peaceful, firing into crowds with rubber pellets or automatic weapons and beating protestors. As of September 15th, 2023, at least 551 were killed, and around 19,000 were arrested in relation to the uprising. Authorities also heavily restricted Internet access to prevent the spread of information and protest videos, as well as disrupt the rights to freedom of expression and peaceful assembly.

Iran’s pushback against widespread public dissent includes the Hijab and Chastity law, proposed by deceased former president Ebrahim Raeesi in May 2023. This was officially approved by the Guardian Council in September 2024 and will be enforced on a trial basis for three years.

The law tightens the mandatory dress code, with penalties of up to 10-15 years in prison, depending on the frequency of violations. It also directly responds to online defiance by punishing influencers or public figures who promote or share content that disparages the dress code, with internet restrictions, fines, and even being banned from leaving Iran. Article 28 calls for law enforcement agencies to use online monitoring systems to report violators to the judiciary.

In July 2023, it was announced that, after a brief recess caused by the protests, the morality police would begin patrolling the streets again to monitor civilians who “ignore the consequences of not wearing the proper hijab and insist on disobeying the norms.”

The government has also used traffic cameras to detect and subsequently fine women without hijabs, detained and suspended female university students who have violated the law, and forcefully shut down businesses that serve women with the “improper dress code.”

Despite these endless threats, Iranian women and girls refuse to be deterred. They continue fighting for their freedom and their right to dress as they wish, even when it might cost them their lives. A 40-year-old woman from Tehran told The Washington Post, “Us Iranian women have gotten to a point where it’s either death or freedom for us. We will pay any price, but we won’t go back to what life was before” the uprising.

Below are the stories of just some of the women and girls who are symbols of the resistance against their oppression and deserve to be remembered.

Roya Heshmati

Roya Heshmati, a 33-year-old woman who lives in Tehran, posted a photo of herself on social media. The photo in question shows Heshmati with her back to the camera, wearing a red shirt, long black skirt, and no head covering. Late at night on April 20th, 2023, authorities arrested Heshmati in her home and confiscated her phone and laptop. She spent 11 days in detention on the charge of “appearing in public without proper religious hijab” and was initially sentenced to 13 years and 9 months in prison, a fine of 12,500,000 rials ($297), and 74 lashes.

Mizan, Iran’s Judiciary News Agency, wrote that Heshmati’s sentence was carried out “in accordance with the law” while also accusing her of “promoting prostitution” and receiving money from abroad. Her actions were described as “injuring public modesty” and “encouraging people to commit corruption.

 

An Iranian woman with dark hair looking into the camera.
Image 2: Roya Hesmati, Source: Yahoo Images

 

An appeal overturned the prison sentence and reduced the fine, but the lashes remained, alongside a three-year ban from leaving Iran. On January 3rd, 2024, Heshmati refused to wear the hijab while receiving her lashes in court, which she compared to a “medieval torture chamber.”

Roya’s story sparked support across social media, both within and outside of Iran, for her courage in the face of a barbaric punishment and blatant attacks on her character.

Arezoo Badri

On July 22nd, 2024, 31-year-old Arezoo Badri was driving home with her sister in the city of Noor. Police tried to pull Badri over to confiscate her car—this was most likely a result of a new surveillance measure to identify and confiscate the vehicles of female drivers or passengers traveling without head coverings.

It is not confirmed whether Badri directly violated this rule, but the confiscation notice associated with her car suggested that she had. She did not stop when prompted by police, at which point they began shooting, first at her tire before aiming at the driver’s side. The bullet reportedly entered her lung and caused severe damage to her spinal cord. It was not removed until 10 days later. Badri underwent lung surgery and was later transferred to a hospital in Tehran, where she stayed under tight security.

 

On the left, a woman laying a hospital bed. On the right, the same woman leaning against a tree outside.
Image 3: Arezoo Badri before her encounter with the authorities on the right, after on the left, Source: Yahoo Images

 

A physician in Tehran told The Guardian in August, “We have had no news on her condition because it’s a heavily guarded military hospital and owned by the police.” Most recent updates on Badri’s state indicate that she is paralyzed from the waist down, but it is unknown whether she will be permanently paraplegic.

Iran International reported that authorities coerced Badri to confess, a tactic repeatedly used as a means to “control the narrative and suppress opposition.” In the video, Badri can supposedly be seen crying due to her critical condition. Her family members (including her sister, who was in the car) were forced to confess as well, on top of having restricted access to visit Badri throughout her time in the hospital.

Confessions like these are broadcast through state media as an attempt to justify and cover up instances of abuse, but human rights organizations like Amnesty International have taken notice of the brutalization against Arezoo Badri and are calling for Iran to stop the state-sponsored violence against women.

Armita Geravand

On October 1st, 2023, 17-year-old Armita Geravand was boarding a train in Tehran when she collapsed and fell into a coma. She died weeks later, on October 28th, suffering brain damage after receiving intensive medical care. Witnesses claim that Geravand was attacked by a hijab enforcer upon entering the train, but authorities assert that she fainted, allegedly having “hit the back of her head against the edge of the platform.”

Surveillance cameras are present inside the series subway car that she boarded. However, Iranian authorities have only released footage from the station, where Geravand can be seen getting on the train without a headscarf, followed by her friends. Just moments later, her friends carry an unconscious Geravand out. Video analysis by Amnesty International’s Evidence Lab concluded that the footage: “Based on the footage time stamps, three minutes and 16 seconds of the metro footage are missing.”

 

A young girl with short hair taking a selfie in the mirror.
Image 4: Armita Geravand, Source: Yahoo Images

 

In the immediate aftermath, authorities reportedly arrested a journalist investigating the incident. Fajr Hospital, where Geravand was being treated, was heavily guarded. State media also spread videos of Geravand’s family affirming what authorities claimed about her collapse due to low blood pressure. Human rights groups like Hengaw have called for independent investigations into her death, but such concerns have been dismissed by security forces.

Armita Geravand’s killing is a horrifying mirror of what happened to Mahsa Amini, garnering further international scrutiny upon the Iranian government for yet another suspicious death under their custody.

The Acts of Defiance Continue

Mahsa Amini’s murder undoubtedly turned a tide in Iran—as the second anniversary of her death passed, women continue to assert their bodily autonomy in the face of ruthless measures that try to strip it away. Whether that’s by participating in large-scale protests or through small acts of defiance, Iranian women and girls will fight until they are free.

A Culture of Shame and Regret: Exploring the Rise of Digital Sex Crimes in South Korea

“Private,” “a matter of female chastity,” “unimportant,” “shameful.” These tend to be the words showing the attitude towards survivors of sexual violence in South Korea; it’s what suppresses the voices of victims and perpetuates a culture of guilt and silent suffering. 

Many of South Korea’s societal institutions employ strong patriarchal norms to this day: current president Yoon Seok Yeol threatened to abolish the Ministry of Gender Equality and Family in 2022. The country’s judicial system has a historically lax approach to prosecuting offenders of sexual crimes. South Korean women report experiencing gender-based discrimination in the workplace at a rate three to four times higher than men. Other politicians have suggested that women are to blame for the increase in male suicide attempts.

These factors oftentimes make life for women in South Korea dangerous. In 2019, police data reported that women accounted for 98% of victims in cases of crimes against intimate partners. An analysis by Korea Women’s Hot Line found that at least one woman was killed or nearly killed by her male partner every 1.8 days that year.

Merely discussing the issue of gender inequality can be taboo or contentious. Anti-feminism is rampant, as some men believe that Korean society is gradually becoming misandrist in light of efforts to improve women’s rights over the past few decades. Danbi Hwang, a member of the feminist group Haeil, told NPR in 2022 that “Femi” (short for a feminist) is used derogatorily to label any person interested in women’s empowerment—being asked if you are a “Femi” is par with being asked if you are mentally ill.

Men protest on the streets of South Korea.
Image 1: Hundreds of South Korean men gathered in an anti-#MeToo rally, in 2018. Source: Getty Images

It’s unsurprising, then, that a culture that constantly silences and fails to account for the safety of its women, coupled with rapid advancements in technology and industrialization, has fused together to create something horrifying: digital sex crimes. 

A Longstanding History

Digital sex crimes are characterized by the illicit production and distribution of non-consensual, sexually explicit images online. South Korean women have been victims of this abuse in countless variations.  

Molka, which translates to hidden cameras, is an all-too-common mechanism for such offenses. Micro cameras are installed in public bathrooms and changing rooms, and the footage is uploaded online and spread through social networks like Tumblr and X. Sometimes, the footage is sold to websites that generate revenue by selling access to the illegally obtained material. Police data showed that molka crimes surged from 1,353 in 2011 to 6,470 in 2017. 

Yoon-Kim Ji-young of Konkuk University’s Institute of Body and Culture called it a “technologized version of male violence.” At 80%, most of the victims in molka cases are women, while in 2016, 98% of perpetrators were men. 

Women sitting together in a protest in Seoul, South Korea.
Image 2: Thousands of women gathered to protest molka crimes in 2018. Source: Yahoo Images

Over the years, the South Korean government has responded with several protective measures to combat the increase in digital sex crimes, especially following the protests of 70,000 women against the lack of justice for survivors. In 2018, the Korean Women’s Human Rights Promotion Agency opened the Digital Sexual Crime Victim Support Center under the Ministry of Gender Equality and Family. The center’s services include counseling, deletion of illicit material, and investigative and litigation support. 

Just a couple of years later, in March 2020, South Korean journalists revealed what would become known as the “Nth room.” The media discovered at least eight secret chatrooms on the popular messaging app Telegram, where members shared and watched sexually exploitative videos of women—many of whom were minors.  

Customers paid for access to the “Nth rooms,” with fees up to 1.5 million Korean won ($1,200). Korean police have reported that more than 60,000 people participated in these crimes. Because the Telegram server is located overseas, it’s harder for the police to track it, which enables the easier spread of non-consensual content. 

The original article by Hankyoreh that broke the news describes separate private chatrooms dedicated specifically to child sexual abuse materials, as well as ‘knowledge rooms’ that provided cautionary measures for members in the event of a criminal investigation. 

Cho Ju-bin was eventually arrested for being the mastermind behind the collective abuse. An article from The Korea Times published in April of that year stated that, at the time, no sentencing guidelines existed for digital sex crimes. But following this, the Sexual Violence Punishment law was updated to include sentencing for up to three years, or a fine of 30 million won ($22,261) for those who possess, purchase, store, and watch illegal sexual content. And on November 26th, 2020, Cho was sentenced to 40 years in prison. 

 AI and Worsening Crimes

The outrage surrounding the “Nth room” case and the Burning Sun scandal of the previous year should have put enough pressure on the South Korean police and government to ensure that large-scale, sexually exploitative crimes never occur again. But this year revealed another depraved way in which the combination of deep-rooted sexism and technology can damage the livelihoods of women: deepfake abuse. In the case of deepfake abuse, a real person’s face is combined with a sexually explicit body using artificial intelligence. 

Telegram is, once again, at the epicenter of the problem. Yet, for the very first time, the Korean National Police announced the launch of an investigation into the app following reports of hundreds of cases of deepfake sex crimes. This came shortly after the arrest of Telegram founder Pavel Durov on charges including the circulation of child abuse images, drug peddling, and the refusal to cooperate with authorities.  

What’s especially frightening about this brand of deepfakes is the acutely personal element: “mutual friend” channels on Telegram are dedicated to the creation of illicit images of women and girls, most often by people they know. Many rooms are targeted toward university students, while others exist solely for middle school and high schools.  

Even more disturbing is the nonchalance with which the crime is treated by the perpetrators. Deepfake abuse has become so common that they are essentially considered to be pranks. Two hundred ninety-seven cases were reported in the first seven months of the year, up by 180 from last year. Police reported that most of the accused were teenagers and people in their 20s. 

A college student told Hankyoreh, “I have to exercise caution whenever I do group projects with male students because a perpetrator could be lurking among them. Professors, security guards, all men on campus are people to be wary of.” 

The chatroom reveals understandably came as an unsettling but familiar shock—South Korean women and young girls now face the fear that any image they post online, no matter how innocuous, could be manipulated in the worst ways by people they should be able to trust. 

Authorities suggest exercising social media use with caution, but middle school students, in a statement obtained by Hankyoreh, voiced their dissatisfaction with such suggestions. They wrote, “While society and the press have made those suggestions out of concern, we’re fully aware that such measures, on their own, could never resolve this issue. We cannot rest easy until a fundamental solution is found.” 

The Fight Continues

On September 23rd of this year, over 6,000 women attended a protest organized by the Joint Action against Misogynistic Violence, a collaboration between six women’s universities in Seoul. Protestors expressed their collective anger toward systemic factors that leave women to suffer: an absence of proper legislation, lazy policework, and insufficient sentencing for convicts. 

“The government should strictly regulate the artificial intelligence industry to prevent unlawful image manipulation,” an anonymous protestor told The Korea Times, “Similar crimes will only stop when severe penalties are imposed on workplaces that fail to comply.” 

The rally made legislative waves—just days later, on September 26th, the South Korean National Assembly passed a law making it illegal to view or possess sexually exploitative deepfakes, with up to three years in prison for the offense. Another bill was passed to imprison individuals for the use of deepfakes to blackmail or coerce minors at a minimum of three and five years, respectively. Finally, the National Assembly also created legislation to facilitate the deletion of illicit material and provide support for the victims.  

Furthermore, the Korea Communications Standards Commission is setting up a 24-hour hotline for victims as well as doubling the personnel responsible for monitoring digital sex crimes. They plan to create a consultative body to enhance communication with social media to aid in deleting and blocking deepfake content. 

Progress is being made, but it doesn’t erase the harm of countless predators being let go with barely a slap on the wrist. Whether the police force and courts will now prioritize putting perpetrators behind bars has yet to be seen; history does not bode well for South Korean women, who will continue to struggle for an eventual future of protection and justice.