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The cutbacks have hit people like construction company owner Kazuharu Shimogaki hard. Shimogaki's firm peaked in the early 1990s, when sales reached $8 million and he employed 80 people. Now, the company has just 18 on its payroll, and sales have dropped to less than $1 million. A few years ago, Shimogaki, 57, diversified into garbage incineration and a blueberry-farming operation that has yet to turn a profit. Shimogaki inherited his business from his father, but none of his four children is interested in taking it on. "Times are changing," says Shimogaki, with a trace of resignation. "If we can't change with them, we'll all sink."
Much of Japan already has that sinking feeling. A decade ago, 90% of Japanese considered themselves "middle-class." In an Asia-wide survey conducted by U.T. last year, however, 60% of Japanese now rate their economic status as "below middle-class." The public's increasing awareness of kakusa shakai is reflected in the Japanese media's obsession with who is up and who is down. Whether in magazines, on TV chat shows or on bookstore shelves, the domestic debate is dominated by the idea of kachigumi and makegumi ("the winning team" and the "losing team"). Fashion magazines are filled with beauty tips to marry early and avoid being a poor, single woman. Newsmagazines list the names of middle schools that readers' kids should attend to assure they grow up to be winners. Weeklies show what the winners are wearing and where they are eating, while literary essays ponder the meaning of winning and losing in life.
At least people like Shimogakistruggling nobly in the face of adversityenjoy a measure of sympathy from their countrymen. In comparison, no consequence of Japan's restructuring has so vexed the country as the rise of the "freeter"the name for a highly educated young person who seems to have it all but stops trying. Because a college education has become less likely to guarantee lifetime employment, the sons and daughters of baby boomers have increasingly resorted to taking part-time or temporary jobs without high pay or much chance of job development. (Coined by a job-placement magazine, "freeter" is a combination of the English word free and the German word Arbeiter that means worker.) Initially romanticized for their nonconformist attitudes when the trend was first spotted in the 1980s, the number of freeters has since grown to some 4 million, or about 20% of the country's 15- to 34-year-olds, according to the UFJ Institute, a Tokyo-based think tank. Now they're viewed as slackers, unproductive dropouts in a society that increasingly needs youthful economic vitality. Particular wrath is reserved for the "parasite singles"freeters who maintain a high standard of living despite low pay (or zero pay) by moving in with mom and dad.
Many freeters say they would be happy to work, if only there were opportunities. Tsuyoshi Sasamoto, 24, graduated from college in spring with a degree in architecture even though he decided midway through his course that he didn't like the discipline. What he really wants to be, he says, is a fashion designer, but he's done little to break into the field other than look at some job listings every few weeks. "I don't know anybody in the industry," he says, "but I'm hoping to find something that pays about 200,000 yen [approximately $2,000 a month]." In the meantime, he works as a furniture mover in Tokyo. Then there's Rika Saihara, 23, who recently quit a full-time job with a storage company because, she says, she didn't fit in at work. She hasn't had a job in three months, but because she is living at home with her parents in Tokyo, she doesn't feel any rush. "I am thinking of registering at a temp agency and looking for some type of social work," she says. "I just want to help people."