Toshio Kawase, 24, understands the sense of floating, of feeling disconnected from everyone else. From the time he was in elementary school, Kawase fell victim to bullying, an all-too common practice that takes taunts and teasing to ugly, violent and sometimes grave extremes. Gangs of boys would surround Kawase and kick and punch him because he was "different." He wore colored socks, for example, when everyone else preferred black. He didn't have friends. Life was so bleak he considered suicide. Finally, at 17, Kawase dropped out. He worked several odd jobs, as a waiter, a cook, a newspaper delivery man. He even recorded taped stories for a telephone-sex line, for $25 an hour. In short, he got by. Fluent in English, bright and creative, Kawase obtained his high-school diploma by taking equivalency exams and is now in his final year of college in Tokyo. "I'll never work at a Japanese company," he swears. "I can never be restricted like that again. I just want some freedom. In school, I lived in this society where everybody had to follow the rules and I never could seem to adapt."
In Tokyo and Nagoya, there are now telephone hotlines for children who don't fit in or just want some companionship. One evening, according to an Asahi Shimbun publication, Hachidai Nishiga, a counselor, took a call from a high-school freshman. "Do I have to say something?" the boy tentatively asked, adding: "I'm sorry. But don't hang up." Nishiga assured him he would stay on the line. "I want to feel like I'm with someone else. Is it all right?" the boy asked. Nishiga reassured him that he didn't have to speak. "Thank you," the boy said. Then he fell silent. Three minutes passed before he spoke again, pleading: "Are you still there? Are you?" Nishiga asked what he was thinking about. "I'm so glad there is a person who can spend useless time for someone like me," the boy said. "Can I call you again?" Then the line went dead.
It can be hard to make a connection. And those who can't often fall to disturbing depths. "I couldn't trust anyone, especially adults," says a 15-year-old student from Kyushu who wound up at National Musashino Gakuin, a Saitama prefecture reformatory for troubled kids. "They easily change what they say to suit their convenience," says the boy, who doesn't wish to be named. "Teachers? They lied to me. My father came home late so I didn't have time to talk to him. I didn't like my mother very much, so I didn't talk to her." The boy is just back from planting sweet potato cuttings on a small farm at the reformatory, so his clothes are covered with mud. He ended up here, at one of Japan's 57 institutions for juvenile delinquents, after being caught stealing. Youth crime has become something of an epidemic in Japan, with the number of prosecuted juvenile offenders jumping 14% from 1996 to 1997.
The problem has snowballed so quickly that Japan isn't prepared to cope with kids who go bad. The reform schools, whose ranks include juveniles guilty of hard-core crimes like murder, rape and assault (a junior-high school boy who fatally stabbed his teacher last year was ordered to one of the schools because he was only 13), are relatively comfortable dormitories without high walls or fences. Juveniles escape easily and are not severely disciplined when caught. The boy from Kyushu has broken out three times. His punishments included having to jump rope repeatedly and scrub the dormitory floors. "Our job is to give boys a chance to get back on the right track," says Tatsuhiko Itagaki, head of the instruction section. But more than one-third of those who leave his school in Saitama are forced to return after getting into more trouble.
There's a term in Japanese for juveniles who suddenly, and violently, fly off the handle: kireru, which literally means snapping. "When they are pissed off, they don't have words to express their feelings," says Itagaki. The unexpected nature of this snapping behavior is what alarms Japanese, for it is so far removed from the ordered, predictable working of a society that values the group ethic over individuality.
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THIS WEEK'S TABLE OF CONTENTS
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Ryuta Koike, who was expelled from school for attacking his teacher, relaxes at a bowling arcade. Tom Wagner--Saba for TIME
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Young Japan Home
The Me Generation:
The country's privileged youth are struggling to define what they want. Their efforts--both frivolous and fundamental--are already beginning to transform the culture
Day in the Life:
What a 17-year-old girl does--and buys
Culture Club:
Tokyo has taken over as the source of what's hip and happening for the rest of East Asia
Sound Factory:
An Okinawa school turns out stars
Talk Talk:
What teens are chatting about online
Not Playing Ball:
A fresh generation is starting to shake up the hidebound world of Japanese baseball
Outside the Box:
Breaking the education straitjacket
Viewpoint:
Actress Youki Kudoh says respect the old ways
Viewpoint:
Parents should examine their own ethics
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