A look inside Japan's largest prison for women

The women in pale pink smocks and green head coverings sit hunched over pieces of fabric, sewing banners and flags.

The sewing machines rattle. Talking is forbidden. Not one of them looks up at the guards standing watch under the cold neon light. They also ignore journalists touring the facility.

Around 450 inmates are serving sentences at Tochigi Women's Prison, an aging facility located between rice fields and warehouses around 70 miles (100 kilometers) north of Japan's capital, Tokyo.

It is set to close in 2028 due to aging infrastructure and underuse. Staff and inmates will be relocated to one of nine other prisons.

Low pay, long workdays

In Tochigi, prisoners work five days a week from 7:40 a.m. to 4:30 p.m. with a 30-minute lunch break and shorter pauses in the morning and afternoon.

The seamstresses work for a private client. Other women fold origami paper into cubes and balls, work in the prison kitchen and laundry, or repair the wheelchairs of fellow inmates.

Work has long been at the core of Japan's penal system, which was was influenced by Prussian models in the late 19th century. It aimed to instill punctuality, obedience, perseverance, and teamwork.

Rehabilitation over retribution

Most prison sentences in Japan previously included an explicit obligation to work. Others could apply for jobs. This dual system was abolished in June 2025.

In its place is a single form of incarcaration that emphasizes individualized treatment, rehabilitation and reintegration. It marks the first change to Japan's sentencing system in more than a century.

Depending on the individual, work may now be combined with vocational training, addiction support, psychological counseling and preparation for life after release.

Makoto Tadaki, a professor of criminal law at Chuo University in Tokyo, said that eliminating the old division made it possible to combine work and guidance more flexibly and to create more time for other forms of treatment.

The official reason for the reform was the high rate of recidivism — almost 50%.

Work still comes first

Prison warden Kiyochika Miyoshi said that the reform has not changed the central role of work in daily prison life.

But what happens when illness, age, or psychological strain make work impossible? 

A 63-year-old woman serving a life sentence for robbery and murder filed a lawsuit in late August 2025, alleging that Tochigi prison ignored her health complaints and repeatedly punished her for refusing to work.

She accused officials of using pepper spray against her and repeatedly placing her in disciplinary confinement, effectively restricting her to her cell.

According to a 2023 report by Human Rights Watch, a formerly imprisoned woman who was released a year earlier and has an intellectual disability, said the prison officials "don't treat us like human beings at all."

The rights organization criticized "overly stringent restrictions on communications with the outside world," and found that some incarcerated people were "denied access to gender-specific healthcare services, including basic care such as access to sanitary products."

"When imprisoned people give birth, their infants are typically taken from them almost immediately and handed to relatives or sent to an alternative care institution," the HRW report stated.

Kiyochika, the warden, rejects the image of sheer harshness.

"We do nothing that would be problematic from a human rights perspective," he insisted, pointing to the facility's "reflecting rooms" — a pair of small rooms with softly padded chairs, a plush toy to squeeze, carpeted floors, plastic plants, and pictures on the walls. 

Inmates are allowed up to 30 minutes in the reflecting rooms to talk about their state of mind, their problems, and their future.

"The inmate speaks freely about whatever is on her mind, and two officers simply listen," Kiyochika told reporters touring the facility.

The reflecting rooms stand in stark contrast to the spartan single cells that measure just under 6 square meters (64 square feet). They are furnished with a narrow bed for foreign inmates or traditional tatami mats for Japanese prisoners. A chair at a tiny table. A small, cheap television on a metal cabinet. A small locker for personal belongings.

Those who behave well may move to a shared cell with up to six women, where the door remains open and the toilet is separate. 

Aging, ailing and often overlooked

Many inmates at Tochigi Women's Prison do not fit the typical profile of prisoners.

While just under 40% are in good health, more than 60% have physical or mental impairments or are ill. Almost one in five women is over 70, and the oldest is 91. Some use wheelchairs and cannot access the communal bath unaided. Yet the facility employs only four nurses and two physiotherapists.

A third of the inmates come from abroad — mostly from Asian countries such as Thailand, Vietnam and China. Many were convicted of drug smuggling: Japan's drug laws are among the toughest in the world.

Despite communication difficulties, only a few foreign inmates receive Japanese language lessons.

"Does that make sense if they will ultimately return to their home countries?" Kiyochika asks rhetorically.

The prison warden also points to the positive aspects of Tochigi, such as training opportunities as a hairdresser, caregiver, cosmetician or forklift operator. A three-month course teaches basic business skills.

Around 80% of inmates are released early, Kiyochika says. The 36 convicted of murder, however, are not among them.

In Japan, people serving life sentences are released only in exceptional cases, effectively leaving them with little chance of rehabilitation.

Prison abolition: rehabilitation over retribution

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This article was originally published in German.