COVID-19 forced Japanese society to shut down for months to prevent infections. One unintended consequence was skyrocketing rates of debilitating loneliness. 

As the newly appointed Minister of Loneliness, Tetsushi Sakamoto faces a tough task. He and his staff shoulder the heavy burden of addressing Japan’s crisis of loneliness, which COVID-19 only exacerbated. In 2020, Japan reported 20,919 suicides, an increase of 750 from the previous year and the first uptick in a decade. The reasons for the increase are as myriad as they are mysterious: joblessness, internet addiction, a culture that allegedly neglects the individual and so on. Understanding the problem is only half of the battle, however. The thousands suffering from loneliness—and the many more thousands at risk—need not just explanations but reintegration into society. 

What’s most disturbing about Japan’s most recent suicide statistics is that more and more groups are becoming susceptible to crippling levels of loneliness. While men account for 70% of all suicides, rates particularly for women are increasing. Moreover, loneliness poses other public health problems besides rising rates of suicide. It has been linked to a 29% increase in heart disease, and has been likened to smoking 15 cigarettes a day. 

In this sense, loneliness constitutes a public health crisis within another debilitating public health crisis: COVID-19. Indeed, one compounds the other. Reports of loneliness skyrocketed during the pandemic, and it particularly affected those vulnerable to the lifestyle changes that the pandemic demanded, namely women, entertainment workers and the elderly. Many women were forced to prioritize child-rearing over their careers. Entertainment workers found themselves suddenly unemployed and with few job prospects. The elderly saw contacts with the outside world dwindle amid lockdown measures. Each of these groups are part of Japan’s 20,919 suicides in 2020. 

The Minister of Loneliness also faces a deep-rooted problem that predates the pandemic by decades. Roughly 500,000 people in Japan fall under the category hikikomori. Hiki comes from the word meaning “to withdraw” and komori from the word “to be inside.” In essence, hikikomori are modern-day hermits who live apart from society, often not leaving their homes for months, or even years, at a time. The rapid development of apps that allow groceries and other necessities to be delivered to one’s doorstep has only made the hikikomori lifestyle easier.

Experts don’t classify hikikomori as a mental illness, per se. Rather, it is a “sociocultural mental health phenomenon.” However, this vague definition does little to shed light on this understudied population. First noted in the 1990s, hikikomoris were thought to consist largely of men who couldn’t find gainful employment amid an economic slump. The shame and stigma from  not being able to land a job forced some to withdraw entirely from society and permanently halt their job search. Most became dependent on their parents for food, shelter and other necessities. 

Lonely elders face perhaps the gravest threat: dying alone. A small industry has emerged where  cleaners empty apartments of food, belongings and furniture after someone  has died alone. These deaths often go unnoticed for weeks because their isolated lifestyle leads to nobody noticing their absence. Often, neighbors alert authorities when the smell of a dead body begins to invade nearby living spaces. By that time, weeks have gone by. 

As COVID-19 cases slowly decrease, loneliness shows no sign of stopping. The new Minister of Loneliness faces an intractable problem that predates him by decades. Many are skeptical that a new ministry will be able to affect substantive change. Furthermore, statistics about the issue are hard to come by and hard to attain; how do you reach out to somebody who has taken every effort to exclude themselves from society? Nevertheless, it is up to the new ministry to try.

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Stephen is a Journalism and Political Science double major at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. He enjoys sharing his passion for geography with others by writing compelling stories from across the globe. In his free time, Stephen enjoys reading, long-distance running and rooting for the Tar Heels.