“I Have Reformed. But I Still Ignore No-Parking Signs.”—What an Interview with a Former Yakuza Taught Me About the Power of Habit

The other day, I was watching a television documentary when one oddly memorable scene caught my attention.

A man was being interviewed on the street. As he told his story, he revealed that he used to be a yakuza member—that is, a member of one of Japan’s organized crime syndicates.

He apparently now deeply regretted what he had done in the past and had come to appreciate the simple privilege of living an ordinary life. He also said that he volunteered to help people in need.

It was an admirable story. He had turned his life around and was now trying to help others.

But as I watched, something suddenly made me think, “Wait a minute.”

The car he had arrived in was parked in a no-parking zone.

He Changed His Ways, but Not Where He Parks

I am sure his remorse was sincere. I also believe that his volunteer work came from the heart.

At the same time, however, he apparently had few reservations about leaving his car in a no-parking zone.

That was what made the scene so interesting.

A person can regret serious wrongdoing and resolve to live for the good of society. It is possible to change such a grand outlook on life.

Yet the small, everyday instincts—“Will parking here inconvenience someone?” or “Isn’t parking prohibited here in the first place?”—are much harder to change.

From his perspective, he probably felt that he had become thoroughly law-abiding compared with the person he used to be.

After all, he had once been a yakuza member. Now he was even volunteering. In his own mind, that represented a dramatic transformation.

Compared with that epic tale of redemption, a parking violation may have seemed like a trivial matter.

Old Habits Die Hard

Japan has a saying, “The spirit of a three-year-old lasts until one hundred,” meaning that traits acquired early in life are difficult to change.

Habits and values developed over many years run deeper than we realize.

They are especially troublesome when we do not even recognize that we are doing something wrong.

Giving up serious crime presumably requires great determination. But giving up small, everyday violations requires recognizing them as a problem in the first place.

And the longer something has felt normal, the harder that recognition becomes.

A person can declare, “From now on, I will live an honest life.” But that declaration does not instantly update every behavioral pattern embedded in the mind.

In fact, achieving a major goal may even make smaller problems harder to see.

Compared with his former self, the man in the documentary may indeed have changed so much that he seemed like a different person.

Still, as I watched the footage, one thought occurred to me.

Apparently, a person can leave the yakuza, but giving up the parking habits acquired during those years is considerably harder.

Human rehabilitation is a remarkably complex thing.

At the very least, his parking habits had not yet been reformed.