The thought of volunteering to help criminals clean up their acts never crossed Kunio Toshima’s mind in his younger days.

The high school dropout had found himself on the wrong side of the law, with no direction in life and an apathetic attitude.

But after meeting with an open-minded and supportive woman, Toshima decided to follow in her footsteps.

He is now a volunteer parole and probation officer in the government’s community supervision program.

The system, set up in the late 19th century, remains a key service for rehabilitating criminals and others with checkered pasts. As Toshima’s case shows, the program can prove enormously beneficial for both the individual and society.

But the system is now in dire need of volunteers as its current officers are aging and dwindling in number.

The Diet on Nov. 3 passed a revision bill designed to ease requirements and broaden the pool of future supervisors.

Toshima, who has been a volunteer for seven years, may represent a new type of officer for the program.

FOLLOWING HIS MENTOR

Toshima, 43, a native of Tokyo’s Koto Ward, was arrested on suspicion of obstructing official duties and causing injuries in a motorcycle accident when he was a third-year junior high school student.

After he spent time in a juvenile classification home, a family court placed him on probation and assigned him to community supervision.

“I found it a hassle to go to school,” Toshima recalled of his school days. “I did not last long in any part-time job.”

Those on probation are required to meet regularly with a supervisor. He was assigned to Teruko Nakazawa, a woman who had just started her service and later became known as a “legendary probation officer.”

Toshima grudgingly showed up for his first appointment.

He quickly found that Nakazawa was willing to listen to him. She even said she was “amused” by his words about TV dramas and his favorite food.

When he told her he had started a part-time job unloading cargo, she appeared impressed.

“Sounds great,” she said. “Since you have started it, you should stick with it.”

Nakazawa always gave Toshima words of support and encouragement. Talking with her was a refreshing and uplifting experience for him.

He said he had few conversations with his parents while growing up and believed that adults were not interested in what he thought.

One day, Nakazawa said: “Your father cried and said he must have raised you in the wrong way.”

Toshima was touched that she took the trouble to meet his father.

Even after completing his probationary period a year later, he kept seeing Nakazawa, whom he revered like a mentor.

Toshima juggled odd jobs to make a living after dropping out of high school.

When he told Nakazawa about his dream to become a professional wrestler, Nakazawa gave him her blessing.

Toshima saved money and traveled to Puerto Rico, where professional wrestling was thriving, for training. He debuted as a professional wrestler and worked on the side at a railway.

But Nakazawa presented a new possible twist in Toshima’s life. Seeing his potential, she strongly recommended that he become a volunteer probation officer.

Her suggestion seemed unrealistic, he thought, given his lack of credentials.

“I will not make it even if I apply,” he told her. “I am just a junior high school graduate.”

After she persisted, he submitted his application in 2018 when he was 36.

“I ended up becoming an officer,” he said.

Toshima switched to a daytime job as an electrical technician to make himself available to parolees and probationers after work and on weekends.

He learned there is no guarantee that his good intentions and dedication would be reciprocated.

Many of those under his supervision often skipped their appointments. Some were rearrested soon after they pledged to turn over a new leaf.

Toshima believes that being let down is part of his job.

When he needs inspiration to keep him going, he thinks of Nakazawa and the words she often said: “I did not start out with the objective of correcting offenders’ behavior. They carry deep regrets and anxiety over what they have done.

“My job is being there to listen when they pour their hearts out.”

Nakazawa, now 84, supervised more than 120 individuals over about 20 years until she retired at age 77.

Even today, the rehabilitated offenders continue to see her.

Toshima said it might be impossible to fill her shoes. But he said he would feel rewarded if just one individual is thankful to him for his service.

NUMBERS DECLINING

Volunteer probation officers are given the status of part-time national government employees. They numbered about 46,000 this year, down by 3,000 since 2000, according to the government’s white paper on crime.

The average age of officers has risen, and about 80 percent of them are now 60 or older.

The government revised the volunteer probation law during the current Diet session in an effort to assemble more personnel for the service.

The revised law dropped “social credibility” and “have time to spare” from the list of requirements. It instead stipulates that qualified personnel are of “respectable character and views” and “can make time for the service.”

The legislation obliges businesses to do their utmost to accommodate requests for days-off and shorter working hours from employees who double as parole and probation supervisors.

The revision also obliges the government to secure safe venues for meetings between the offenders and supervisors.

The measure is intended to address concerns among officers following a parolee’s killing of a volunteer last year during an appointment at the officer’s home in Otsu, Shiga Prefecture.

An additional Diet resolution accompanying the revised law calls for consideration of offering monetary compensation to the officers is necessary.

(This article was compiled from reports by Ryuta Sometaya and Yuki Nikaido.)