Adapted by:
Carlos Prego
WriterI have more than 12 years of experience in media that have passed by too quickly. I've been writing for Xataka since 2018 and I'm mainly in charge of content for the site’s Magnet vertical. I’m especially interested in technology, science, and history.
Karen Alfaro
WriterCommunications professional with a decade of experience as a copywriter, proofreader, and editor. As a travel and science journalist, I've collaborated with several print and digital outlets around the world. I'm passionate about culture, music, food, history, and innovative technologies.
Kazuhide Inoue, a 73-year-old man in southwestern Japan, has a peculiar job. He’s not a postman, though he goes from mailbox to mailbox checking their contents. He’s not a janitor, but whenever he finds something in one of those locked mailboxes, he tosses it into a bag for disposal. Inoue is a kind of guardian of Japanese morals, working to prevent schoolchildren from getting their hands on pornographic magazines.
He does this through white mailboxes known as shiroposuto—drop boxes designed for the disposal of magazines, books and DVDs with adult content. However, their use has declined sharply in recent years.
What’s a shiroposuto? The term may not mean much to those unfamiliar with Japanese culture, but in Japan, shiroposuto have been part of the urban landscape for decades. They resemble ordinary mailboxes, with a slot for depositing materials and a padlocked door at the base. The key difference is their distinctive white color.
The real surprise is inside. Instead of postcards, stamped envelopes or bills, these mailboxes hold discarded adult magazines and movies.
Click on the image to view the original post on X.
They’re not new. Sociology professor Yuko Obi recently told Kyodo News that the first known shiroposuto was set up in 1963 in Amagasaki, in western Japan, to provide a discreet way to dispose of “obscene publications.” Three years later, another appeared in Tokyo, and over time, they spread across the country, collecting thousands of magazines.
Why were they created? Their primary purpose wasn’t just to offer adults a discreet way to discard adult magazines but to prevent these publications from ending up in traditional trash bins or on the streets, where children could find them.
“The campaign to install them was led by mothers who didn’t want their children exposed to anything harmful, including pornographic books and magazines,” Obi told The Guardian. To further ensure privacy, many were placed outside train stations, where individuals could dispose of materials discreetly at night.
Did they work? For a time, yes. Shiroposuto kept thousands of pages of explicit material locked away in metal containers, out of sight of teenagers. In the 2010s alone, Nagasaki’s bins collected between 5,000 and 6,000 pornographic items annually.
The network of white mailboxes functions largely thanks to people like Inoue, who periodically empty them. It’s not a daily or even weekly job—Inoue, for example, makes his rounds several times a year—but it helps keep adult content out of children’s reach.
Why are they in the news now? Because they’re disappearing. The mailboxes made sense when people bought magazines, VHS tapes, and DVDs, but statistics show fewer people are doing so. That doesn’t mean Japanese people are consuming less adult content—pornography remains prevalent in society—but they’re accessing it differently, primarily online.
“They were a success when they first appeared in the 1960s, but Japanese society has changed, and the way people consume media has been transformed,” Obi said. “Back then, there was a lot of pornographic material in circulation, and campaigners did a good job of raising awareness about shiroposuto, but in the age of digital media it is impossible to hide harmful material.”
Goodbye to shiroposuto? Yes and no. There are no precise statistics on how many existed in the 1970s or 1980s compared to today, but Japanese media outlets suggest their numbers are dwindling as society evolves. However, that doesn’t mean they will vanish entirely. The process has been gradual, with some reversals—Fukui installed two new white mailboxes in 2018, while Nagasaki removed several last year after a sharp decline in use.
Are they still in use? Obi says that while shiroposuto have served their purpose, they’re not a perfect solution. “They get old and rusty and have to be repaired, but not everyone wants taxpayers’ money to be spent on that,” she says. “And they have to be emptied by a local board of education official, sometimes accompanied by a police officer.”
For now, Inoue continues his “anti-porn” rounds.
On one recent trip, he collected 16 books and 81 DVDs in a single day. “At night, when the streets are less crowded, men of all ages come to get rid of their stuff,” a 71-year-old taxi driver working near a shiroposuto said.
Log in to leave a comment