By Jessica Wang
In Japan, dying alone is no joke.
Recently, reports of elderly people discovered months or even years after their isolated deaths are making news. These people, known as kodokushi, are discovered only after bank accounts are drained by automatic withdrawals, or the scent of putrefaction seeps out through vents and into a downstairs neighbor’s apartment. Since they have no relatives or friends to speak of, their landlords rely on the new lonely death cleaning industry, a crop of new companies that put the dead’s affairs in order. These businesses clean up the decay permeating these apartments, stripping flooring and wallpaper, disinfecting bathrooms, tossing maggot-ridden instant noodle bowls, and incinerating stained futons. Insurance agents have even started selling policies that protect landlords if tenants pass away in their apartments.
It’s a sadly common way to go—think tanks estimate that over 30,000 people nationwide die this way every year; the government claims there are only around 3700 “unaccompanied deaths” but acknowledges that they have lost track of over 250,000 people over 100 years old. Japan has the world’s fastest aging population, with over a quarter of the population more than 65 years old, a number set to rise to 40% by 2050. Currently, Japan is home to 128 million people; this is projected to fall to 100 million by 2050—a result of more people remaining single, and having fewer, if any, children. 90% of these lonely deaths are men, who, after retiring from lifetime jobs, lose all sense of community. Their pride often makes them unwilling to ask for help, or reluctant to burden relatives who are struggling, live far away, or home-bound as well.
Many of these people thrived during Japan’s boom years, when the country was rebuilding after World War II; they sacrificed family and friends for their businesses. When the economy crashed in the ’90s, most of these “salarymen” lost their jobs or turned to smaller roles on the margin, with less social security. Many kodokushi die at relatively young ages (in their early 60s), indicating an inability to adapt to retirement. But how did this happen in a nation that has always valued family?
With the push for new economic development, the traditional three-generational structure has broken down: space in the big cities has shrunk and private healthcare costs for the elderly have risen sharply, worsened by a shortage of state facilities for the elderly (420,000 senior citizens are currently waiting for beds in retirement homes). Researchers are now trying to build robots to care for the isolated elderly, performing everyday tasks like lifting them out of bed. Furthermore, after the war, the government built huge apartment complexes called danchi, composed of 4,800 identical white apartment buildings, to encourage families to embrace modern life and the Western nuclear family model. These buildings were once home to young, vibrant communities, but are now mostly occupied by senior citizens who living alone. Cerulean pools once brimming with the laughter of children now sit stagnant, full of fallen leaves and branches. With the new phenomenon of the hikikomori, or the 700,000 mostly young and mostly male hermits living isolated from society, the rate of lonely deaths will surely rise. In Japan, mental illness is a taboo subject, so over half a million Japanese youth suffer alone in the confines of their rooms, afraid to ask for help. Many resort to suicide.
But there is hope: Besides the cleanup industry, services have begun that check up on senior citizens living alone. Danchi communities organize monthly lunches for their residents to encourage them to build friendships and integrate themselves into their community. Due to labor shortages in nursing homes, old caregivers have begun taking over, helping to care for their peers. Some work for the pay, but most appreciate the opportunity to stay connected with others and maintain a regular schedule. Residents look out for each other, making regular visits or phone calls, or even just peering out the window to ensure that a window shade is opened every morning.
Other nations would do well to learn from this phenomena, which will likely spread to other countries. China’s rural elderly population often die alone or take their own lives, essentially perishing of loneliness; this will only worsen as the effects of the one-child policy continue to settle in. As better healthcare enables us to live longer and longer lives, societies across the world are greying rapidly. In addition, new technology makes it easier than ever to withdraw from society. On the other hand, it also makes it easier than ever to stay in touch with old relatives.
The plight of the kodokushi raises questions about where we’re heading as a society, but also hard questions for individuals—in an age where we’re constantly reminded to seize the day, are we remembering to maintain our connections? What will retirement look like for our workaholic generation? Who will come check up on us when we’re in our nineties?
Only time will tell.