Can the Class of '89 Fix Japan? — page 2

Cocooned within the lower echelons of gargantuan banks and infallible omni-corps, Eighty-Niners from top schools like Todai would be largely shielded from the effects of the gathering recession. But outside the cocoon, Japan was unraveling. Companies were going bankrupt, banks were reeling under multibillion-dollar debts, and joblessness—a risible 2% when the class of '89 joined the work force—was inexorably rising and would double by the century's end. The notion of lifetime employment was under assault. For Eighty-Niners, the message from all that they observed was clear. "It didn't matter how hard you worked or how prestigious your company was," says Masahiko Nakamura, a Honda executive and Todai graduate. "Since the bubble burst, you're not guaranteed job security anymore."

For an older generation, this all spelled gloom and uncertainty. Indeed, as the '90s progressed, senior company workers were committing suicide in record numbers or falling victim to karoshi (death by overwork). But where some saw doom, Eighty-Niners—adaptive, self-reliant and freethinking—sensed opportunity. O.K., so lifetime employment was dead. But a work force that switches jobs more often is going to shake up traditional corporate hierarchies, which tend to reward seniority rather than talent. Keisaku Sato, an independent filmmaker and graduate of Waseda University's class of '89, says Japanese his age are unusually egalitarian in the workplace: "We think and associate with people horizontally, as opposed to the vertical, hierarchical way" that typifies older Japanese workers.

This distaste for hierarchy and convention also makes Eighty-Niners statistically more likely to switch jobs—and that's fine by them. Naoki Adachi, 37, a 1989 biology graduate from Todai, gave up a government-funded research project on Malaysia's disappearing rain forests to address an issue he felt was both "more connected with reality" and closer to home. He is now a consultant to major Japanese corporations seeking advice on how to improve their environmental records. Is he happy with his career change? "Very," says Adachi. "People who follow unusual paths are usually happier, because they're doing what they really want to do."

Likewise, women from the class of '89 have gained much greater freedom to explore areas that once seemed out of bounds to them. With the passing of the historic (though still inadequate) Equal Employment Opportunity Law in 1986, female Eighty-Niners were among the first women to compete in the male-dominated workplace with legislation on their side, at least in theory. "We didn't set out to change the world," says banker Yuko Kasahara, 36, a member of the class of '89. "We just wanted to make careers for ourselves. But as a result, younger women now have greater opportunities." Says Eighty-Niner Yukari Yui: "It's easier for working women these days, although if a woman wants to have a child she still usually has to quit her job." This makes the example of Yui, a 40-year-old astronomer at Japan's space agency, even more striking: she is married with three children. "It was hard when we started out," she admits. "The economy has got worse since then, but because we had such a tough start, we didn't notice so much."

Architectural engineer Yuji Yamazaki, 37, has also watched his industry suffer unprecedented wage freezes and cutbacks, but he remains philosophical. "I don't earn as much money as I might have," he reflects, "but then I don't work such long hours either." Less money, more leisure: the formula suits Yamazaki just fine. His wife recently gave birth to their second child, who can expect to grow up with ample attention from both parents.

Many Eighty-Niners share Yamazaki's relatively carefree attitude toward money—surprising for a generation that came of age in the greed-is-good '80s. They understand, perhaps better than their parents, that cash and contentment are not necessarily synonymous. It was this that encouraged Todai law graduate and Eighty-Niner Kikuo Sakaguchi to eschew the lucrative but stifling corporate law career his degree promised. Instead, he handles lesser-paid, low-profile personal bankruptcy cases at a small firm, trying to help regular people in financial distress. It's not glamorous work, but it leaves him plenty of time to travel. Sakaguchi has visited more than 50 countries, most recently Bangladesh. "Bangladeshis earn a fraction of what Japanese earn," he says, "but are they only a fraction as happy? They're probably happier."

While they reject the all-consuming work ethic of their parents, Eighty-Niners are not scared of hard work—or of public service. They share a keen desire to improve their country, an urge stemming from a diminished faith in their government's ability to tackle society's problems. Public disgust with Japan's corrupt and inefficient leaders has reached record levels since 1989. "Japan has no strong leadership—not in politics, economics or education," says Reiko Ikeda, 37, a manager at automaker Subaru and '89 Todai graduate. For many Japanese, this disgust has decayed into apathy. For class of '89 members, it seems to have stirred their sense of self-reliance.

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