DoomScrolling
Every day on Japan’s trains, a quiet but familiar ritual plays out. As soon as commuters settle into their spots, they reach for their phones. It’s automatic, almost unconscious—like an addict lighting up. They’re not just checking messages. They’re diving into a stream of nonstop stimulation: breaking news, games, gossip, outrage, sexy influencers, shopping deals, trending disasters. It’s not just doomscrolling—it’s digital binging. And while the content varies, the effect is consistent: a brain locked into overdrive, flooded with input, starving for stillness.
This behavior is more than a habit—it’s neurological. Dopamine spikes with each scroll, each notification, each unpredictable bit of content. Whether it’s something terrifying, tantalizing, or trivial, the brain reacts the same way. It craves more. This constant stimulation erodes attention, patience, and the ability to be present. It numbs emotions, feeds anxiety, and conditions people to fear boredom. On the trains—quiet, packed, disconnected from the world outside—this effect intensifies. What looks like peace is actually overstimulation in unison.
Japan, a country known for order, restraint, and public discipline, has a paradox at its core. It enforces some of the world’s strictest anti-drug laws—zero tolerance, no exceptions. Even trace amounts of narcotics can lead to arrest, deportation, or jail. But on the trains, in classrooms, and in homes, there’s another kind of drug in circulation: the smartphone. No regulation. No warnings. No guidance. Just pure access.
Even children aren’t spared. Kids in primary school are handed phones without oversight. No one explains how algorithms work, how addictive content spreads, or how attention is monetized. There are no national campaigns teaching media literacy or digital boundaries. Meanwhile, their developing brains soak up the same infinite scroll as adults—only with fewer defenses.
This isn’t just a parenting issue—it’s systemic negligence. Japan regulates behavior when it affects public safety and harmony: smoking in public, noise levels, walking while using a phone. But somehow, the daily ritual of content overconsumption slips through unnoticed, despite its clear mental and physical fallout. If something acts like a drug—stimulates the brain, forms dependency, degrades health—why isn’t it treated like one?
Regulation doesn’t mean bans. It means honesty. Public health messaging. Digital use education in schools. Transparent data from tech companies about how their platforms affect behavior. Quiet cars on trains could become digital detox zones. Parents could be given tools, not just devices. The goal isn’t to kill technology—it’s to stop it from quietly hijacking everyday life. A country that won’t tolerate even a gram of marijuana shouldn’t keep turning a blind eye to a far more widespread addiction.