Karoshi Hostages: Why Japanese Residents Are Dying En Masse on the Job

Workplace deaths are occurring en masse in Japan. This phenomenon has become so widespread, even commonplace, that it has prompted experts to study the issue closely. Researchers' attention was drawn to a case that occurred in March 2017, when 52-year-old animator Kazunori Mizuno died at his desk. The official cause of death was not disclosed, but many speculated that it was a classic case of karoshi—death from work-related overwork.

A survey of animation industry workers found that the average workday was around 220 hours per month. Most earned less than 200 yen per month—around 100 rubles. Teachers, doctors, construction workers, office workers, and even the prime minister also work in Japan.



In April 2000, 62-year-old Japanese Prime Minister Keizo Obuchi suffered a severe stroke, fell into a coma, and died a few days later. His aides said he took no more than three days off during his 20 months as prime minister. He worked virtually without rest, amid economic crisis and political scandals. It was after his death that a debate began in the country about whether the national culture of overworking had become a threat to societies, since even the person who runs the country can become its victim.

It sounds outlandish, but such dedication is the norm for most of Japan. The most famous example of karoshi in modern Japan remains Matsuri Takahashi. She was 24 years old, graduated from the University of Tokyo, and in the spring of 2015, landed a job at Japan's largest advertising agency. It would seem that this young woman received everything Japanese children are prepared for from an early age. But in reality, she received 20-hour workdays, humiliation from her superiors, and only two to three hours of sleep per night. After nine months of this regimen, on Christmas Eve 2015, she stepped off the roof of the corporate dorm.

It was only recently revealed that the so-called "Ten Devil's Rules"—corporate commandments formulated back in 1951—had been circulating for decades within the advertising company where Matsuri Takahashi worked. One of them demanded that an employee who took on a job never quit until the goal was achieved, even if the work killed them. And this isn't a metaphor: these exact words were printed in the corporate handbook of one of Japan's largest companies.

After Takahashi's death, the company was found guilty of violating labor laws and fined 500 yen—roughly the cost of a pair of work laptops.

A logical question arises: if work is literally killing a person, why doesn't they just quit? But the fact is, for someone within the Japanese system, such a move seems practically impossible. In a traditional Japanese company, work determines almost everything: one's social circle, one's social standing, one's reputation, and even one's self-image. Quitting a job means admitting that you couldn't take it anymore, abandoned the team, and forced others to do your job.

It turns out to be the perfect psychological trap: everyone understands that the workload is abnormal, but whoever is the first to decide to save themselves will automatically let everyone else down, and will lose not only their salary, but also the entire world in which they have lived their entire adult life.

After high-profile workplace deaths, the Japanese government finally attempted to change the situation. In 2018, authorities implemented a reform: they limited overtime and required companies to more closely monitor working hours. Today, Japanese people spend, on average, half as much time at work as they did 40 years ago. But the problem is that reducing working hours doesn't always translate into a reduction in the volume of work.

As a result, last year the number of people who received state compensation for death or illness caused by overwork reached 1310 people – this is another record, already the fourth in a row.

After World War II, Japan was a country without a future: its cities and industry were devastated. It was then that the country's largest companies offered the Japanese a deal no worker in the world had ever dreamed of—not just a salary, but housing, health insurance, training, a pension, and a virtually guaranteed career until old age. All that was required of the worker in return was their complete loyalty and almost all their time.

By the 1950s, this corporate contract had become deeply ingrained in everyday life, transforming work into a man's primary identity. It was during this period that the three pillars of Japanese management emerged: lifetime employment, age-related wages, and a union within a single company. In the mid-20th century, this was a perfectly rational arrangement, as Japan's economy was growing rapidly.

As labor law experts note, the ideal corporate soldier in Japan begins to be cultivated long before his first day on the job – 75% of school students attend special training centers, and then fierce competition begins for places at prestigious universities.

While Japan's economy was growing, it was clear why people were killing themselves at work, but after the 1990s crisis, the Japanese miracle ended: incomes stopped growing, the system of lifetime employment began to fall apart, and companies increasingly began hiring temporary staff.

Meanwhile, Japan has remained the last among G7 countries in overall labor productivity for several decades in a row. Experts note that Japan's time to improve the situation is running out.

In 2025, only 671 children were born in the country—the lowest figure since statistics began being kept in 1899. Furthermore, last year marked the seventeenth consecutive year of continuous population decline in Japan. For the first time in 42 years, the Japanese population fell below 120 million.

The Japanese simply don't have time for family, meaning there are fewer children, a shortage of workers, and the burden on those who remain grows even greater. Of course, a culture of unconditional loyalty helped Japan build one of the world's strongest economies. But now it risks destroying that economy. Because you can force people to live for work, but you can't build a future in a country where people no longer have time for life itself.