Tokyo's central business district. A temple to the Japanese work ethic. A stone's throw away is a staircase
that leads up to the Atago Shrine. Many working professionals in the city climb these stairs
known as "the steps to success'" at least once in their working life. To the Japanese, they symbolise climbing
the corporate ladder. But even getting to the work gods
is hard work in Japan. Worshippers here primarily pray
for anything related to their careers. From new jobs and promotions... to booming business ventures. The number of salarymen
who trek here daily to beseech the business gods is a glimpse into just how obsessed
the Japanese are with work. Japan's workforce puts in
some of the longest hours in the world. Clocking in close to 1,700 working hours
per person per year, compared to 1,500 in the UK
and 1,300 in Germany. But ironically, Japan is among the
least productive global economies today. I'm Yumi Araki. I left Japan as a teenager and now I'm back as a journalist
to explore my country as it enters a new era. In this episode, I want to understand
why the Japanese work so hard. As the country grapples
with the impact of COVID-19 and ever greater economic pressures... I explore if
this unbending dedication to work... still has a place in the hearts
and minds of the Japanese today. Enduring rush hour in Tokyo
is just one example of how committed
the Japanese are to work. But the dedication to work
in my country also manifests in other,
often extraordinary ways. From the efficiency of our trains... to how our restaurants are run, down the tiniest details
in a shop window. Everyday mundane objects
can take mythical forms here in Japan. Even fruit. And if anything embodies
the Japanese work ethic, it is this melon. Wow. Priced at 32,400 yen, which is about US$330 to US$350. Some have even been auctioned
for a whopping US$45,000. These incredibly expensive melons are considered the pinnacle of perfection
in Japan. But what makes a perfect melon? I'm heading 180 kilometres
south-west of Tokyo to Shizuoka prefecture to find out. Master farmer Yuko Yagi grows the most revered of
all of Japan's couture crops... the crown melon. Venerated for its taste... and its aesthetics. 42-year-old Yagi-san
is a second-generation muskmelon farmer. She learned how to grow melons
from her father, who passed away three years ago. To understand the hard work that goes into producing
Japan's crown melons, I'm joining Yagi-san
as she tends to her crops. Here, timing is everything. After 50 days of precision watering, the plants begin to flower. But the hard work of raising them
has only just begun. Yagi-san sees the melons
as her children, all individually beautiful. To me, they all look
pretty much the same. And just like many an over-doting mother, there is no end to her nit-picking. Yagi-san's eye for detail,
mixed with a certain obsession is quintessential
of the Japanese work ethic. It's to achieve the best. And in Yagi-san's case,
it's to produce the perfect melon. One of the most important features
farmers look out for is a melon's webbing. When you walk through the process
of how this is done and the amount of care and love that Yagi-san puts into the product, it's sort of hard to dispute
how much of a love of labour this is and maybe it is, you know, worth the 200-plus dollars
that it costs to buy these things. After 100 days of TLC, these melons are ready for harvest. But not all of them appear to live up
to Yagi-san's exacting standards. Only one in 1,000 melons
are considered top grade and displayed at the markets not just as food,
but as edible works of art. Back in the farmhouse, I finally get to try
Yagi-san's famous crown melons. All right. I'll try it now. Usually, when you have cantaloupe
or other melon, it's like, it's fine, it's just a fruit. This is like top-notch. Really sweet, really luscious. In just four years of farming, Yagi-san has won awards for her fruit
for two consecutive years. In Japan, there is a word for the
kind of care Yagi-san puts into her work. <i>Kodawari. The relentless and uncompromising
pursuit of perfection. In my mind, the word kodawari
used to have a negative connotation. So, someone who can't see
the forest from the trees, they're so into what they do. That's all they can see. With Yagi-san and her crown melons, it gave a new meaning to me
for what kodawari means. There's a phrase
that Japanese people always say when people eat something
really delicious, they're saying... (Japanese) which means, "Oh, there's so much love
imbued into this." And I never really, in the past, have eaten anything that literally felt that way
until I had this melon. <i>Kodawari permeates almost everything
<i>in Japanese life.</i> From food, to design,
and even business. On average, employees here
work more than 49 hours a week. That's six days cramped into five. But such unbending commitment to work
comes at a cost. There has been a growing
and disturbing phenomenon in the country that the Japanese call karoshi. Death by overwork. To understand what it is
about Japan's work culture that drives over 200 employees
to their deaths every year, I've signed up
to experience the worst place you could ever choose
to work in Japan. Japan's renowned work ethic
turned post-war debris into a first world economy. But by the 1990s, this economic giant
was in a financial bubble. The bubble popped and growth shrivelled. From a high of around 7%
down to 1%. Three decades later, the country can't seem to get itself
back on track. But the Japanese are working
as hard as ever. A quarter of full-time employees
work more than 80 hours overtime a month. The result has been karoshi, or death from overwork. And a key driver of it are exploitative,
sweatshop-style corporations, called "black companies". My director, producer and I
have signed up for an event that lets people experience first-hand what working at a black company is like. These actors are
playing managers and employees who are going to simulate scenes based on real situations
at black companies, although names have been changed. It may look odd, but company slogans
have long been a Japanese tradition to boost morale and bind employees
to a company's culture. At some firms,
morning rituals include group exercises and singing songs about productivity
and defeating rival businesses. At black companies,
anyone out of step is made to suffer. Super Miracle Happy! In the next scene, an actor
playing a new recruit is being trained to sell
the company's products, in this case, medical equipment,
door to door. It seems a bit over the top, but these scenarios
are based on true stories. At black companies, training sessions like these
typically turn into a hazing session. I know this is play acting, but it is incredibly uncomfortable
to watch. The lines between reality and fiction
are getting pretty blurred for me. Oh, my god. What's horrible about that scenario was, like, they make a hostage
out of the person that -they're trying to make an example of.
-Yes. And so, it creates a scenario
where it's like... "No, you can't step in,
because if you step in, that's going to be you." It compels them even more to fall in line because when you're watching it
being like, "Oh, god, I would do anything
to make sure that's not me." Right, exactly. That's the point, to divide and conquer. -Yes.
-Yes. So that they won't form solidarity
against the company, and say... That's right, that's exactly right. While specifics vary, black companies tend to hire
younger employees who end up working over
80 hours overtime a month. They only get a 10-minute break a day and they don't receive any insurance,
benefits, or pensions. Employees are invited to participate in these black company simulations to raise awareness
about their rights as workers. Masuyama-san believes this mentality
stems from a code of ethics developed by the Japanese samurai in the 17th century called bushido, or "the way of the warrior". With Japan's economy facing
its worst crisis since World War II, it seems work has become
the be-all and end-all for many people. The relationship between employer
and employee in Japan has traditionally been for life. Since the 1950s, Japanese businesses have hired recruits
fresh out of school, trained them on the job, and kept them until retirement. All in exchange for an employee's
lifetime devotion to the company. Black companies in Japan
have become so common, there is now an annual ceremony
that gives an award to the most evil corporation
of the year. Previous nominations include local firms,
Fortune 500 companies, and even public broadcasters. At the risk of being labelled as one,
our director calls it a wrap. In 2018, there were
over 2,000 work-related suicides across a range of industries in Japan. I'm speaking
to 41-year-old Fumiyoshi Shimizu, who has personally experienced how overwork can severely affect
mental health. Fourteen years ago, Shimizu-san was one of the 800,000 workers employed at convenience store chains across Japan. Because of punishing schedules
and general labour shortages across Japan, 24-hour stores are difficult to staff. Shimizu-san tells me his company
refused to offer him support. Shimizu-san's dedication to his job reminds me of a pervasive
Japanese phrase. <i>Ganbaru or to persevere through hardship. But persevering
on just three hours of sleep a day puts the body and the brain
under enormous stress. A year into the job,
Shimizu-san was diagnosed with depression. But he ignored his doctor's advice
to take a break. For better or for worse, there is a deeply ingrained mentality
in Japanese society that the group comes
before the needs of the individual. Because Shimizu-san
was put on unpaid leave, he asked the company
to compensate him for his overtime hours. Shimizu-san took the company to court... and won. Shimizu-san was awarded US$15,000 in compensation for his overtime hours and for the damage
the work had done to his health. A rare outcome in Japan. The relationship between employee
and employer in Japan reminds me of an abusive relationship where the victim keeps coming back
to an abuser. A sort of lethal corporate
devotion and reliance that has subsumed
every other relationship in a salary person's life. I want to find out how leaders
at the highest levels are tackling the epidemic
of stressed and overworked employees. Japan's government recognises that the country's work culture
needs to change. In 2018, the government passed
a work style reform bill that introduced mandatory off days and caps on excessive working hours. Yet critics point out that caps can be extended
for half a year during busy periods, back up to 100 hours
of overtime a month. But there has been some change. To encourage
a healthier work-life balance, some companies have introduced
automated computer shutdowns at the end of the day, shaming workaholics with capes, and afternoon exercise breaks
to help employees de-stress. I've heard of
one particularly unique initiative that claims to ease
the pressures of work. These salarymen have been sent here
by their company for a form of therapy called ruikatsu. Yoshida-san has a tough task ahead. According to an international survey
on adult crying, the Japanese are among the least likely
of all nationalities to shed a tear. In the first film, a son is telling his dying mother
at the hospital that he regrets not appreciating
her enough growing up. It doesn't take long for me. In the second clip, an estranged father and daughter
are reconnecting at her wedding. In the last film, a man is reading a poem
in memory of his cat, his lifelong companion. Man, this guy is tough. But there is one participant
who kept it all in. Companies offering therapies like these are encouraging their employees
to step outside the traditional confines
of the stoic salaryman. It's a step towards acknowledging
the individual as a human being in a society that
has long favoured the collective. I notice that Owada-san,
who didn't cry, looks sceptical. While there's been progress at recognising
the overwork epidemic in Japan, solutions like tear therapy may
only be the band-aid and not the cure for overwork
in the country. But maybe there still is something
to having a good cry at the end of the day. But if it takes this long
for grown adults to find out if their jobs
are the right fit, I wonder how young graduates
who are about to enter the workforce feel. In Japan, the pressure
to get a traditional salaried job begins early. University students
spend most of their final year preparing for the one event they believe
will make or break their careers. <i>Shukatsu or job-hunting season. An intense, year-long process in which thousands of students
attend multiple job fairs, seminars, and interviews,
to secure full-time employment by the time they graduate. Roughly 80% of Japan's graduates
find jobs during shukatsu. Fail to get hired, and the chances of finding work
after graduation are next to nil. The stakes and the stress are so high, that one in five students
are said to contemplate suicide. I want to understand
how the shukatsu system affects the lives of young Japanese
and the nation's work culture. But before I join the job hunt,
I've got to dress the part. <i>Shukatsu has strict guidelines
<i>for interview attire.</i> The first rule of shukatsu, suits must be black or navy blue. And the colour of a blouse
is usually white. Women are also advised to keep makeup
and accessories to a minimum. Though there is one sartorial choice
that female students do get to make. To wear pants or a skirt. I set aside my misgivings
about the bland suit and try it on. It's actually a pretty comfortable suit. You typically do more than
one interview a week. Every day, essentially. So, if I have to do this every day
and these are machine washable, not too bad. But the individual in me can't help it. All right,
so this is the more outlandish choice, because it is not black, it is blue, navy blue, way different than black. It has one button, instead of two, so the chest area shows a bit more, maybe too risqué on your first interview. But it's still a pretty conservative suit
in my opinion. Like I could walk into an interview
with a financial firm and they'd take me seriously. If I walked into an interview
with creatives, it'd be like, you know,
you can be our accountant. I can't say the suit's aesthetic
represents who I am. But maybe that's not the point. As I'm thinking about what
distinguishes myself from somebody else, in a prospective interview, it's the ideas, it's the thoughts
that actually make the difference. So, if you can take that sort of, "Oh, what am I going to wear?"
out of this situation, maybe it is that you can actually
just focus more on your responses. With my standard suit in hand, I'm ready to find out
how Japanese students prepare for the dreaded job hunt. To prepare thousands of students
during shukatsu, or job-hunting season in Japan, there is a billion-dollar industry
that provides guidance on everything from aptitude tests
and job attire, to resume writing and interview etiquette. And I'm diving into this world. I've joined a workshop
that teaches students how to navigate group interviews. It's a common practice
Japanese companies use to whittle down prospective candidates. Consultant Yuki Kondo
is giving the students tips on how to stand out in the crowd. The class is splitting into two teams
for a mock group interview. My group, team A, are the prospective job candidates
who have to prepare a presentation on a given topic. While team B play
the part of company recruiters, assessing how the students engage
in team discussions. The stress around the table
is palpable. Everyone wants to get a word in. The competition is fierce
and it's not easy to get a word in. With only a short window of time, the students have to make
every sentence count. Sometimes it pays to stay silent. That was really stressful. Just observing students
was really, really impressive, but the thing that she's trying
to encourage is thinking of... not just academic smarts
but street smarts. How flexible are you?
How analytical are you? The stress of the job hunt
doesn't end here. Just getting invited for an interview
in the first place is a huge undertaking. And getting your foot in the door? It starts with the resume. I've joined Satoshi Sekiguchi, one of the students from the workshop
at his meeting with a career counsellor to go over his job application. Students typically submit
between 10 and 100 applications to increase their chances
of getting an interview. And here in Japan,
they are traditionally handwritten. In Japan, companies aren't interested
in the hours you've spent getting the font and layout
of your CV just right. Resumes are more or less the same format
across the country. Companies believe
filling all these boxes in by hand will reveal a candidate's
true personality and help them find
the perfect long-term match. Satoshi is not alone. A common concern among students is having no idea what kind of job
or company would suit them. Though lifetime employment
is on the wane, the average Japanese worker
will remain at the same company for 10 years, or longer. To me, committing to a long-term
relationship at such a young age feels like being pressured
to marry someone you haven't even met. Many say a revamp in the shukatsu system
is long overdue. The shukatsu system, in a way, feels like it requires
a lot out of people to know exactly what they want and the stakes are really, really high. And that's why I think people
are really, really stressed out. You know, I have to imagine that there are many people
who just go through the motions and go work for a place
without really having to think about, "Is this where I want to be?
Is this where I'm best suited?" I'm curious to know
what happens to people when they opt out of Japan's
rigid employment system. I'm meeting 39-year-old
former architect Kashiwa Hang, who quit his job when he was hospitalised
from overwork four years ago. He's been playing the handpan
ever since. These days, Kashiwa earns
a modest income from performing and teaching
the handpan. His way of thinking is rare in Japan. Only 17% of Japan's labour force
is self-employed like Kashiwa compared to 25% in South Korea and 35% in the US. Kashiwa has invited me
to join him at his workplace on the busy sidewalks
of downtown Tokyo. Unlike his old office, the work environment here is friendly,
relaxed, and engaging. And Kashiwa can call it a day
whenever he feels like it. I think Kashiwa Hang is among the growing number of people
who are of working age in Japan who are starting to get tired
of the traditional cultural routes of going to work. I think there's a lot more introspection
about who am I outside of being a worker and what are the possibilities
that are out there? For so long, working hard has been synonymous
with what it means to be Japanese. I've seen some of the best
of that work ethic. And also, some of the worst. I think Japan is at a precipice point where it's trying
to preserve the traditions of how things used to be done with new paths that are being forged
about how to go about work life. As the country charts
choppy economic waters in the future, the nature of work will change. And Japanese society's
relationship to it will also have to change tack. Captions: IYUNO Media Group
