Exploring a fascinating subject with moody, evocative photography, The Vanished sheds light on a taboo aspect of Japanese culture and society neglected in both Japanese and international analyses. French journalist Léna Mauger and photographer Stéphane Remael embark on a project to understand the phenomenon of “evaporated people” or johatsu, people who succumbed to the shame of failing to live up to the crushing pressures of societal expectations and convention and abandon their lives, either by suicide or by disappearing to scrape by anonymously in the semi-legal cracks of society. Johatsu, a euphemistic metaphor that draws from the evocative imagery of steam drifting up from an onsen steam bath captures the ephemeral nature of this issue and obviously becomes an obsession for the authors.
Traveling throughout the country during the late 2000s and early 2010s, from squalid urban backstreets of Tokyo and Osaka to the lonely countryside of rural Yamanashi prefecture and the Tojinbo Cliffs, they record touching interviews with people close to the topic, including family members, those who devote their lives to helping people in mental health crises, and the johatsu themselves. At the same time, during their investigations, they touch on other related topics including poverty, discrimination of burakumin and immigrants, organized crime, and the continuing economic downturn of the “lost decade” that contributes to it all, ending with an account of the devastation of the March 2011 earthquake, tsunami, and nuclear disaster.
The various people they encounter share strong insights into these various, little-discussed concerns affecting Japan as in many industrialized countries in the world, putting human voices to them in striking fashion. At the same time, however, the authors are following in a well-worn tradition of westerners covering Japanese society, hearing about some intriguing Japanese idiom and trying to discover what it means as though in some thoroughly alien environment. Throughout the work, they engage in the same old tropes of the, to use their words, “Japanese hive,” of their “impenetrable culture,” how “space is filled to the point of suffocation,” even while speaking to the unhoused, suicide survivors, and labor organizers who offer their own valuable critiques of their society’s values. This attitude detracts from the work as a whole, I feel, making the authors feel obtuse and disconnected from their subjects, even as they capture so many humanizing, universal emotions in our shared unstable world. The interviewees themselves are the heart of the book here, even if, in this case, you’re reading words that have been filtered from Japanese to French to English in the translation process.