Japanese Managers

What's remarkable, in retrospect, is not that Hideki Harada worked himself to death but that he somehow managed to die at home. Like millions of other hardworking Japanese salarymen, Harada was barely ever there. Day after day, the 33-year-old Tokyo software engineer left his home at 7 a.m. to ride a packed commuter train to his office in central Tokyo; 18 hours later he would return for a few hours of sleep before starting the gruelling routine once again. Working this way, in the year before his death Harada racked up more than 1,000 hours of overtime. He died one Sunday evening in May last year while taking a nap before dinner. Doctors later diagnosed a cerebral hemorrhage as the cause of death, but his family takes a broader view: Harada was a victim of karoshi-literally "death from overwork."

The families of karoshi victims used to suffer in silence. Now they are beginning to speak up-in court. At least 10 karoshi related claims are winding through the courts. Harada's father, Eiji, recently filed a suit against System Consultant Co., charging that the long hours the company required of its employees were responsible for his son's death; he seeks 80 million yen ($620,000) compensation from the company. "What did Hideki die for," he asks: "Was he just a throwaway?"

In the last few years, karoshi has become a household word. Japanese workers unflinchingly put in far more hours at the job (an average of2,159 in 1989) than their counterparts in the United States (1,957) or Germany (1,638). Their toil has made the country rich-and dead tired. And in some cases, just dead. Stress-associated diseases like heart attacks and strokes are the nation's second and third largest killers (cancer is first); last year they claimed nearly 300,000 lives combined. Popular magazines are filled with tales of burnout and premature death caused by workaholic days at the office. Karoshi hot lines handle phone calls from worried wives who fear that their exhausted husbands are on the verge of collapse. Yet many Japanese firms and government officials refuse to admit karoshi is a distinct occupational hazard that falls under the national worker compensation program.

As a result, some victims families are bucking tradition and taking legal action.

If they win, their effect on the way Japan works could be profound. One of the cases that has attracted most attention is that of Akiko Goto, widow of a 58-year-old engineering vice president. In the year before his death of a stroke in. 1989, Akiko's husband, Hiromi, made 20 trips overseas, spent 132 days abroad and often complained of fatigue. His widow hopes to prove that his job sent him to the grave. Last month she filed a civil-conciliation request (a form of arbitration) in Tokyo District Court asking that the practices of her husband's company be investigated and the company held legally responsible for his death.

Chiyoda Corp., her husband's employer, is fighting her assertion. Like most Japanese firms, it does not admit that marathon working hours can be harmful to employees' health. "We are sorry, but we believe Goto's death was caused by disease and could not be attributed to overwork," says its spokesman. "Her husband should have been able to manage both his job and health."