Johatsu蒸発: The Japanese “Right to Evaporate”

Imagine a man leaving home one morning to go to work. As usual: suit, briefcase, bus stop. But he doesn't return that evening. Nor the next day. His phone goes silent, his accounts empty, his address abandoned. Behind him is only a note, a farewell, no trace. You go to the police; they tell you there's little they can do unless there's evidence of a crime or accident. Years pass. The man hasn't died — he has evaporated.

In Japanese, these people are called **johatsu** (蒸発, "evaporation"): individuals who leave behind their lives, names, and sometimes even their faces, disappearing without a trace to start anew with a new identity. In most of the world, this is considered a tragedy and a "missing person" case. In Japan, however, there exists both an industry for doing so and a legal system that largely permits it.

As a lawyer, this leads me to ask: Does a human have a **right to disappear**? And the broader question: How far should law protect a person's desire to escape their past and start over — even when someone else pays the price?

To Be Forgotten vs. To Disappear

A person can erase themselves in two ways. Either they delete information about themself — this is the "right to be forgotten" debate in the digital world. Or they erase themselves — this is johatsu. Both revolve around the same core value: a person's control over their own past, or what we might call the **"right of informational self-determination."** And both hit the same wall: legitimate interests of others. The public's right to know. A creditor's right to collect. A family left behind's right to an answer.

Which comes first? Three legal cultures offer three different answers. Let's look at Europe first, then Japan.

European Model: Right to Be Forgotten

Europe's answer leans toward the individual. The story began in 2014 with a case involving Mario Costeja González, a Spaniard. Costeja was bothered that an old newspaper link about his auctioned home — from years ago due to a closed debt — still appeared when searching for his name. The Court of Justice of the European Union (CJEU) reached a groundbreaking ruling in **Google Spain**: Search engines are considered "data controllers" regarding their content; and an individual may request removal of information about themselves that is "inadequate, irrelevant, or no longer relevant."

The court's logic was clear: Privacy is a fundamental right and generally outweighs both the company's economic interests and the public interest in access to information — provided the person hasn't played a significant role in public life. Moreover, the individual didn't even need to prove harm. This right was later codified in Article 17 of the GDPR (General Data Protection Regulation), which came into force in 2018 under the title "Right to Erasure ('Right to be Forgotten')," with exceptions for freedom of expression and information.

What does this mean in practice? In Europe, the right to be forgotten has become a kind of default — subject to balancing: Since 2014, Google has received over **850,000 requests**, removing more than **1.3 million links**. The right also has limits — in the later *Google v. CNIL* ruling, the CJEU decided that erasure applies only to EU versions of sites, not globally. Turkish readers should find this familiar: Turkey's Constitutional Court and Court of Cassation have recognized the right to be forgotten, largely following this European line.

Japanese Model: "Clearly Outweighing"

Japan looked at the same question and chose its own path. In 2017, a man convicted of child abuse appealed to the Supreme Court for removal of Google results related to his arrest. Interestingly, one lower court directly cited the "right to be forgotten" and issued an erasure order. But the Supreme Court never used that concept — as if it forgot about the right to be forgotten.

Instead, the court grounded the issue in a traditional privacy-expression balance and said three things. First, even though search results are machine-generated, Google's expression is involved — so it's also a freedom of speech question. Second, search engines serve an infrastructure function in society. Third, and most critically: A link may only be erased if the interest in protecting privacy **clearly outweighs** the interest in keeping information open. This is a very high threshold. In that specific case, the arrest was considered serious and still relevant to the public, so the request was denied.

The interesting twist came in 2022. This time, a man requested removal of tweets from eight years ago about an arrest. The Supreme Court ruled for erasure — but applied its strict "clearly outweighing" test differently to Twitter than to Google. The reasoning was striking: Twitter is not as indispensable an information infrastructure as Google; it's just one among countless sites on the internet; therefore, a lower threshold applies.

The lesson here: Japan weighs the scale toward freedom of expression and the public's right to know, while also layering the internet — "infrastructure" like search engines are protected, while "ordinary sites" have easier erasure. While Europe defaults to the individual online, Japan prioritizes expression and examines each case individually with a high bar.

From Digital to Physical: Johatsu and the "Right to Disappear"

Now comes the real irony. While courts debate whether search results should be erased, thousands of Japanese digital actors skip the courts entirely and erase themselves completely in the physical world. And that strong privacy understanding which makes courts cautious online is precisely what enables disappearance in reality.

Japan's Personal Information Protection Law even prevents police from informing a family about a missing adult — to protect individual freedom and deter trackers — unless there's evidence of crime or danger. If no crime or threat exists, the police generally don't open an investigation; it's considered a private matter rather than criminal. On top of that, after approximately seven years of being missing, a person can be declared legally **"gaip"** (presumed absent): their marriage ends, inheritance opens — so the system even binds disappearance to permanent legal consequences.

Notice: Here, law places the disappearing person's privacy **ahead** of the family left behind's desire to find them. This is the exact opposite of the public and family's "right to know." So it's not an exaggeration to say Japan has a de facto **"right to disappear."**

Are "Night Movers" Legal?

Within this void, an industry was born: **yonige-ya** (夜逃げ屋, "night movers"). Companies that come at night, pack belongings, and transport the client invisibly to a new place by morning. But are they legal?

Short answer: The core service is legal, but the work operates in a **"gray zone."** Let's break it down.

The legal part is clear: In Japan, an adult doesn't need permission from anyone or notify anyone when moving. Leaving life behind and cutting ties is itself not a crime; law recognizes personal autonomy. Therefore, as a transport company, yonige-ya is in principle a legal business — they operate openly, have websites.

What grays the work is **why** the client disappeared:

• Debt escape.** In Japan, debt is civil; there's no debtor prison. Fleeing debt alone isn't a crime — but if done to defraud creditors, hinder enforcement, or commit bankruptcy fraud, it changes the color of the business and creates legal/criminal liability. Debt doesn't evaporate either; creditors can pursue civilly.

• Escape from violence/harassment.** Fully legitimate. Today this is the industry's main customer base — some firms report that most clients are women escaping abuse or persistent pursuit. This is a kind of "harm reduction."

• Escape from crime.** Hiding someone already sued or wanted constitutes aiding and abetting the suspect. Reputable firms do background checks; they often don't serve those on the run.

• Child abduction/alimony default.** Violating custody orders or evading alimony obligations is legally problematic; serious firms also reject these cases.

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A small but interesting legal detail: One reason transportations are done at night is that Japanese law prohibits debt collectors from contacting debtors late — which opens a safe window for escape.

**In summary:** The work itself is legal; what might be illegal depends on why the client fled. What keeps firms on the right side of the line is their screening process. Some companies' "extra services" going as far as identity changes or digital trace erasure truly thin the boundary. (A parenthetical note: Advocates for this industry say that for some clients, reaching a yonige-ya is the only alternative to a much worse outcome — showing why the issue isn't just about debt escape.)

Whose Right Comes First?

Actually all three — right to be forgotten, johatsu, and yonige-ya — are different faces of the same collision: A person's right to control their own past and start over versus everyone else's legitimate interests. Three legal cultures, three different balances:

* **Europe** prioritizes the individual online — erase first, then balance with expression.

* **Japan** prioritizes expression and the public online — high bar for erasure. But offline Japan surprisingly returns to the individual again — privacy protects the disappearing person even from their own family.

A deep question remains: Should law grant a human a **"right to second chances"** — even when someone else, a creditor, an abandoned spouse, or an unanswered child pays the price? No clean answer exists. Because that's precisely where privacy, autonomy, freedom of expression, and others' rights collide together.

Perhaps johatsu reminds us of one of law's most unsettling truths: Sometimes a person's freedom is another's ending.

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*This article serves general informational and comparative law purposes; it is not legal advice. For specific situations, Turkish law, EU law, and relevant judicial environments should be evaluated separately.*