In Japan, domestic violence survivors help victims – and abusers
| Tokyo
When Endo Yoshiko got married at 19, she was excited to be a homemaker. Instead, she spent most days gauging her abusive husband’s moods, “trying not to step on a land mine,” she says. Ms. Endo eventually escaped the marriage and found work as a domestic violence counselor.
“I understood victims’ fears, agony, and thirst for freedom,” she says.
Why We Wrote This
A story focused onDomestic violence survivors are at the front of the charge to break women’s silence and end cycles of violence across Japan. They say compassion is their superpower.
In 2015, she founded Jikka, a nonprofit that operates more than a dozen safe rooms. It offers an alternative to Japan’s public shelter system, which was originally established under the 1956 Prostitution Prevention Law and has struggled to meet the needs of people experiencing domestic violence.
Jikka is part of a growing network of private shelters and civic groups – many helmed by women who’ve experienced domestic violence themselves – working to close that gap. At least 1 in 4 women in Japan experience spousal violence, according to government surveys, and few seek outside support. These survivor-run organizations aim to break the silence, help women gain financial independence, and, more recently, support perpetrators who want to end their behavior.
“Survivors don’t want future generations to go through what they had to go through,” says Kaino Tamie, an Ochanomizu University professor emeritus and expert on sexual violence prevention. “Many of them are eager to help.”
Yamazaki Kikuno’s husband would often get enraged over small things, but she blamed herself for every punch or kick. “I thought my communication skills were poor,” says Ms. Yamazaki, who lives on the northern Japanese island of Hokkaido.
In 1997, the violence reached a breaking point. Flying into a rage over the contents of a bento, or lunchbox, that she had made him, Ms. Yamazaki’s husband pushed her over and started wringing her neck in front of their children, as their daughter screamed for him to stop.
The incident prompted Ms. Yamazaki to flee to one of the few private shelters in Japan at the time: Onnano Space On in Sapporo, the island’s capital. The shelter’s then-leader Kondo Keiko fiercely condemned the violence, explaining that Ms. Yamazaki’s husband was a perpetrator of domestic violence.
Why We Wrote This
A story focused onDomestic violence survivors are at the front of the charge to break women’s silence and end cycles of violence across Japan. They say compassion is their superpower.
“It was a huge eye-opening moment for me,” says Ms. Yamazaki, who now leads Onnano Space On.
Since that episode, Ms. Yamazaki, who also serves as a co-leader of All Japan Women’s Shelter Network, has learned the importance of survivors raising their voice. Indeed, she says many of the women running Japan’s growing network of shelters and civic groups that help victims – and, more recently, perpetrators – have experienced domestic violence themselves, though the network has never been formally surveyed.
“Survivors don’t want future generations to go through what they had to go through. Many of them are eager to help,” says Kaino Tamie, an Ochanomizu University professor emeritus and expert on sexual violence prevention.
The number of private shelters has gradually increased since Japan adopted its Act on Prevention of Spousal Violence and the Protection of Victims in 2001, yet many are cash-strapped. This is in part because the idea “that women are helping women is held in low regard” in Japan’s male-dominated society, says Ms. Kaino. She adds that the public should see these leaders as “resilient women” driven by compassion and hope for Japan’s future.
Breaking the silence
In Japan, most – though not all – people who experience domestic violence are women.
That’s not surprising, say experts, considering Japan ranked a record low of 125th out of 146 countries in the 2023 Global Gender Gap Index. This lack of gender equality means many women are unable to secure economic independence, making them especially vulnerable to abuse.
In fact, government surveys have found that at least 1 in 4 women experience spousal violence, though some experts believe the figure could be much higher. A survey presented in the Gender Equality Bureau’s 2023 White Paper also showed that nearly 42% of victims have never consulted with anyone about their abuse, reflecting a deep culture of silence.
Many still consider domestic violence to be a family matter, but sometimes it takes just one person to shatter that perception.
Yoshizaki Masao spent much of her young adult life as a homemaker in Tokyo, raising five children and enduring psychological abuse from her husband before she eventually broke free.
About two decades ago, she shared her experience with a magazine reporter, and her estranged husband, infuriated by the article, stormed into her workplace. Ms. Yoshizaki was not present that day, but the embarrassing incident made her believe she’d have no choice but to quit her job.
Then the messages started pouring in.
Colleagues flooded her inbox with encouraging notes, many confessing that they, too, had experienced domestic abuse. When she ventured back into the office, one co-worker turned up her sleeve to reveal a bluish bruise.
“I felt truly saved by their compassion,” says Ms. Yoshizaki.
In 2006, she partnered with several colleagues to form A Plus, a group that assists victims and offers domestic violence prevention programs.
Power of compassion
Endo Yoshiko got married at age 19 to a man who ended up being abusive.
“I wanted to be a homemaker,” she recalls with a playful smile. “But he was so cantankerous I was always gauging his moods, trying not to step on a land mine.”
After leaving her husband, she found work as a domestic violence counselor for the local government. She took to the role quickly. “I understood victims’ fears, agony, and thirst for freedom because I also went through these,” says Ms. Endo, a twice-divorced mother of three.
In 2015, she established the nonprofit Jikka (meaning “parents’ home”) in Kunitachi, Japan, which offers consultations on poverty and domestic violence and runs more than a dozen safe rooms, offering an alternative to Japan’s public shelter system.
The public system – which consists of a temporary shelter and consultation center in every prefecture – was established under the 1956 Prostitution Prevention Law to rehabilitate girls at risk of prostitution. The law was later expanded to include people experiencing domestic violence, but advocates say the system has never met this population’s needs. There are few services focused on helping women become financially independent, and in many prefectures, lingering associations with prostitution also impact care.
When Hoshino Airi fled from her domestic violence situation in 2017, she was surprised by the restrictive policies in place at Japan’s public shelters. The use of mobile phones was banned, she says, and survivors weren’t allowed to go to work.
In 2020, she launched DV Countermeasures Center in Yokohama, which promotes an approach with fewer restrictions, centered on those seeking help. The center supports single mothers in addition to women and children experiencing abuse.
Like Ms. Yamazaki, Ms. Hoshino had blamed herself for the abusive relationship, but that’s changed.
“I’ve decided to live by valuing myself,” says the certified psychology counselor and volunteer probation officer. “Otherwise, I would not be able to value my children in the truest sense. ... Victims need to build their self-esteem. So do batterers.”
Help for abusers?
Under the current legal system, Ms. Endo explains, “batterers are allowed to go unchecked” while the onus is on victims to seek out support. “The country has to educate batterers,” she says.
Yamaguchi Noriko is trying to do just that. Inspired by programs overseas, she founded the Tokyo-based nonprofit Aware in 2002, where those concerned about their own violent behaviors can sign up for a year of weekly group meetings.
She says that Japan is still a “backward country when it comes to countermeasures against batterers,” but since the launch of Aware, options have grown. Ms. Yamaguchi knows of more than 15 organizations that have started offering programs to help perpetrators end their behavior.
One participant, who declined to give his name, says he’s been attending “batterers’ meetings” for years and will continue until his wife allows him to stop.
At work, he was thrust into a tough, competitive world, he recalls, and then took his pent-up stress out on his family. His wife eventually gave him an ultimatum: Attend a program, or get a divorce.
“I thought of her as a possession, which I did not want to lose. So I decided to join,” he says. “Had I received a [domestic violence] prevention program regularly in youth, I would be totally different.”
Ms. Yoshizaki, the A Plus founder, says that’s a sentiment shared by every victim and perpetrator she meets.
