Counter intuitive

Is it or isn’t it?

Last week the Ministry of Internal Affairs and Communications (MIC) finally released its latest survey of the Japanese housing situation. We say “finally” because the survey is conducted every five years and the last one came out in 2018, so we’d been waiting for it since last fall. The big news is that the number of vacant houses, or akiya, has grown to more than 9 million, or 13 percent of all homes in Japan, a statistic that’s earned headlines all over the world, though the last time the survey was published the number was already way over 8 million, so it’s not as if it’s a surprise. Still, given the global housing situation vis-a-vis inflation and other economic pressures, it’s a mighty powerful indicator of something that few people have explained satisfactorily. We think we know the reason, and we’ve discussed it for years on this blog, but that’s not our concern today. What we want to talk about is the real mystery surrounding the survey, which is how it’s conducted.

For the most part, nobody questions the MIC’s methodology, but given the sheer scale of the akiya situation, one would naturally wonder how the field staff who carry out the survey could possibly count every single vacant home. And, of course, they can’t, so they use the common statistical technique known as extrapolation, which means inferring the unknown based on the known. Specifically, it means taking a scientifically derived sample of a population and then using those results to draw a conclusion about the larger picture. So the real question is: How do they choose a sample?

In 2016, the real estate investment website, Rakumachi, published an article about how the akiya survey was conducted based on questions it had submitted to the MIC. The first point was how the ministry defined a vacant home, and, as it turns out, it has five categories, which are:

1. “Second homes,” meaning vacation properties that are used only on weekends and/or holidays; no year-round occupancy.

2. “Other” second homes, such as residences that are used only for work purposes and occasional overnight stays.

3. Vacant properties that are for rent, regardless of age.

4. Vacant properties that are listed for sale, new or used.

5. “All others,” including homes owned by people who are not occupying them at the time due to work transfers or extended hospital stays, homes that are being “prepared for demolition or rebuilding,” and homes that are vacant but to which none of the above criteria apply.

We assume that “abandoned homes” (hochi akiya) are included in category 5, and in the latest survey they total 4 million, which is quite substantial. Nevertheless, it also means that most of the residences described in the survey are still in use to some extent, so the term “vacant” needs to be qualified.

When Rakumachi asks how the akiya statistic is estimated, the MIC gives a fairly detailed answer. A vacant home is defined as a residence that is not occupied “on a daily basis,” and an evaluation is reached without necessarily interacting with the owners of the residences in question. The field surveyors “make an effort” to talk to the owner/titleholder of a property several times. But mainly they inspect the exterior of the property and question neighbors or, if the property is collective housing, like an apartment building or a condominium, they try to talk to the manager. They collect all this information for a sample of a given area and, using other information specific to the locality, extrapolate. The MIC stresses that collective housing is more difficult for different reasons, the most obvious one being that field surveyors usually cannot enter the building to interact with residents. 

So already there is guesswork involved in compiling the information that will form the basis for the akiya statistic. In January 2021, Nikkei Business ran a story that questioned this methodology with the headline, “Is the 10 percent vacancy rate in Tokyo true?” Nikkei ran off the most recent vacancy statistics: 8.49 million akiya out of a total of 62.4 million residential units in Japan; more than 800,000 vacant properties in Tokyo out of a housing stock of 7.67 million. The reporter, Takeshi So, wondered about these statistics because he rarely sees what he would describe as an akiya, be it a single-family house or an apartment, in Tokyo. (For what it’s worth, we’ve seen quite a few, but we are sensitive to that sort of thing.) And when So looked carefully at the MIC’s methodology he was struck by one thing, namely the discrepancies between the MIC’s numbers and those reported by local governments. 

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Make mine maglev (5)

Heita Kawakatsu

At the end of March, JR Tokai admitted something that we have been writing about for a number of years, which is that the inaugural Shinagawa-Nagoya leg of the Chuo Shinkansen, more popularly known as the linear motorcar in Japanese and the maglev in English, will not open in 2027 as originally planned. JR Tokai, the railway company in charge of the project (often referred to as JR Central in English), had already submitted a notification to the transport ministry in December saying that the maglev wouldn’t open until “after 2027,” but didn’t announce the revision publicly until March 28. Some reporters and at least one major media outlet, the Nihon Keizai Shimbun (Nikkei), have been suggesting for years that, given the unprecedented scale of the project, there was no way JR Tokai was going to open the line, which will zip passengers between Tokyo and Nagoya in 40 minutes, by 2027.

The company was going to have to deliver the bad news eventually and needed a convenient scapegoat. They already had one in the form of Shizuoka Prefecture Governor Heita Kawakatsu, who had been a thorn in the side of the project for more than a decade (though the prefecture’s beef with JR Tokai extends back to before his administration). JR Tokai is now blaming Kawakatsu almost exclusively for the delay. As we’ve explained in the past, the governor, who professes to be in favor of the maglev, had refused to grant the company permission to carry out tunnel construction in his prefecture until it could guarantee that the Oi River, which is in the vicinity of the construction work, would not lose any water as a result. Tens of thousands of residents rely on the river as a water source, and JR Tokai’s own impact study projected that tunnel construction would result in a significant loss. The problem has been a matter of debate between the prefecture and the railway since 2014.

According to Nikkei, the transport ministry called a meeting at the end of March where the water problem was discussed within a framework of environmental conservation related to the maglev construction, and at the start of the meeting JR Tokai President Shunsuke Niwa said that, due to Shizuoka’s intransigence, he could no longer project when the Shinagawa-Nagoya leg would open. Another JR Tokai official explained that the original construction period of 17 years “could not be shortened,” and since it would have taken ten years to complete the line after construction of the Shizuoka section started, even if they did so this year they wouldn’t be able to finish the 8.9 kilometers of tunnel that passes through the prefecture until 2034. This is a big problem for JR Tokai since local governments and businesses located along the maglev line have been carrying out infrastructure construction and redevelopment in anticipation of a 2027 opening, and the delay could cost them money and, more significantly, public trust.

Then, on April 2, Kawakatsu announced he would resign in June, one year before his fourth term is up, for something that had nothing to do with the maglev or JR Tokai. During a speech to welcome new prefectural employees, the governor made a stupid remark belittling vegetable sellers and other occupations. All the media reports on the resignation mentioned that JR Tokai had blamed Kawakatsu for the fact that the maglev wouldn’t open in 2027, and while the ostensible reason for Kawakatsu’s standing down is the remark, he told reporters, perhaps passive-aggressively, that he wanted to remove himself as an obstacle to the tunnel construction.

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Condo, heal thyself

One of the fees that condominium owners have to pay every month is called shuzenhi, which are contributions to a fund that will go toward large-scale repairs of common property in the overall structure, such as exterior walls and some plumbing shared by all the residents. This fee is separate from the management fee, which goes toward operation of the building and more immediate maintenance, including mandatory elevator inspections. Ideally, large-scale repairs should be carried out every dozen years or so, but they usually aren’t owing to difficulty in gaining approval from the needed majority of owners. As a result, many buildings fall into disrepair after several decades, but even when the homeowners get it together and vote for necessary work, there usually isn’t enough money in the fund to cover what has to be done. That’s because developers purposely set the monthly fees for the repair fund low so as to make it easier to sell units when they are first put on the market. We’ve read of cases where homeowners in some condominium buildings had to pay tens of millions of yen each on top of the money they’d contributed to the fund in order to get repair work done. Most condo operations are run by outside management companies, which may or may not be related to the original developers, and one of their tasks is to raise the shuzenhi gradually over the years so that there is enough money for the repairs, but, again, they need to gain the approval of the mandated portion of owners to do it, and that can be hard.

In response to this problem the construction ministry last month assembled a panel of experts to study a system, first implemented in 2022, for local governments to certify whether condo owners associations are operating properly. According to a ministry survey the amount of funds needed for long-term repairs is, on average, 3.6 times the amount collected using the original contribution calculation, but this real amount can go as high as 10 times the originally collected fund. Another survey conducted in 2018 found that 35 percent of condos nationwide have insufficient repair funds, which is likely a low estimate. According to a Feb. 23 article in the Asahi Shimbun, the ministry is trying to come up with better ways to persuade condo owners associations to increase their repair funds by adopting a savings plan based on long-term estimates of exactly how much money will be needed. Usually, when developers set the monthly contributions no such estimates have been made. The amount of the contribution is set arbitrarily based mainly on market considerations. 

The revised plan that the ministry has submitted to the expert panel for study says that the amount needed for long-term repairs should be calculated and then divided into the number of owners and number of months remaining between the start of the fund and the proposed repairs. The ministry recommends that the actual monthly contribution be no less than 60 percent of the estimate and no more than 110 percent. However, if the fee is set at less than what is needed for the eventual repairs, the association can increase it over time by up to 80 percent. This means that if the full monthly contribution for long-term repairs is calculated to be ¥20,000 based on what the cost of repairs will be in the long run, the developer or whoever makes such a decision can set the actual contribution as low as ¥12,000, but then can increase it over time to ¥22,000. 

Such a plan would be included in the management authorization system that local governments use to certify condo owners associations. Certification is based on whether the association has a long-term repair scheme. If the local government grants certification, the association is entitled to borrow money for large-scale repairs at a lower interest rate. 

In a followup report on Feb. 27, the Asahi looked at a condominium in Tokyo’s Adachi Ward that contains 28 units and was built in 2008. Three years ago, the owners association increased the repair savings fund contribution 3.5-fold. The 45-year-old head of the association said that when he took over the position in 2017 he realized that the fund was about ¥20 million short of what it should have contained according to the initial savings plan. The reason for the shortage was that previous association heads did not carry out contribution increases every three years in accordance with the initial plan. The current head invited an expert to talk to other members of the association about what they needed to do, saying that if they didn’t carry out these needed repairs, the building itself would need even more expensive work down the line just to keep it working. Though the owners approved the new contribution plan, it took two years and 8 months to convince them. 

The purpose of the ministry’s certification system is to avoid this kind of delay because increases in contributions would be incorporated into a plan, but as the Adachi example shows, even when such a plan exists it doesn’t mean the owners association will stick to it. The certification system is an incentive, but it is not mandated by law. For that reason, in addition to being eligible for lower interest rates to borrow money for repairs, the panel has suggested that associations who devise a plan and stick to it could have their property taxes lowered. As of the end of February, only 481 condo associations nationwide have been certified. The panel believes that the guidelines for the system should provide more of an incentive if such certification doesn’t have the force of law behind it.

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Insulation blues

We use storage heaters in the winter, and they do a good job of keeping our two-story house uniformly warm, but the technology was partially based on the idea of off-peak electricity, meaning the ceramic bricks inside the storage units are heated in the middle of the night when electricity is cheaper and we’re asleep. Unfortunately, when our utility raised rates more than a year ago it also did away with off-peak discounts and last winter our electricity bills almost doubled. This year it’s been a bit better owing to government intervention, but anyone who lives in Japan, especially if they grew up in Europe or North America, understands how poorly Japanese homes retain heat. For one thing, central heating is not common in Japan, which means each room needs to have its own heat source, be it electric, gas, or kerosene. But the main reason for Japan’s cold houses is poor insulation due to lack of proper design standards that are mandatory in other countries. Even China and South Korea have strict insulation standards they adopted to address energy conservation needs and lower carbon emission targets.

Japan does have standards for insulation, and they were last upgraded in 1999. At the time, these standards were called “next generation energy conservation protocols,” but, in truth, they aren’t even mandatory, thus making Japan unique in that regard among G7 countries. They are simply guidelines, and while most builders adhere to them, the fact that the authorities don’t force them to indicates a curious lack of will that is difficult to explain, but a recent article in Shukan Playboy News made an attempt by comparing Japan’s insulation standards to those of Germany, which has the strictest in the world. 

An engineering professor tells the magazine that maintaining a certain temperature for 100 square meters of interior floor area in a house built to Japanese insulation standards requires seven times as much kerosene as maintaining the same temperature for the same floor area in a house built to German standards. And that’s using the 1999 standards, which only apply to 10 percent of all homes in Japan as of 2023. About 70 percent of Japanese homes were built using insulation standards implemented in 1980, which, of course, are less stringent than the ones implemented in 1999. Then there are still homes standing that have no insulation at all. 

That’s why Japanese houses are “naturally” cold, says the engineer, a situation that is actually illegal in many other countries. In the UK, for instance, a landlord is prohibited from renting out a residence if the uniform interior temperature falls below 18C. Also, in many countries landlords cover utilities, so it’s in their interest to maintain high energy efficiency. In Japan, it’s up to the tenant.

So why doesn’t Japan have stricter insulation standards? One reason is the commonly held prejudice that Japan is a hot country, so traditionally homes were built to maximize ventilation for hot, humid summers. Because of the draftiness of old Japanese homes, heating in the winter was done on a room-to-room basis. Nowadays, few Japanese live in traditionally styled houses, but the idea of cooling or heating individual rooms still holds, only now people use stand-alone heating units and wall-mounted air conditioners. 

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Capital gains

As recently as a decade ago there was fairly active discussion in the Japanese government about moving certain central government functions out of Tokyo. The reasons were varied, but it mostly came down to their being too much power concentrated in the capital, be it administrative, economic, or cultural. Besides the most urgent issue of what this concentration means if a major disaster strikes Tokyo, there are the demographic considerations. As the city remains affordable to most workers and the center of government and commerce, the rest of the country is drained of manpower, resources, and capital, since young people still move to Tokyo and its suburbs in large numbers. On the most basic level, the job of moving millions of people twice a day to-and-from their jobs becomes an undertaking of enormous precision, and while Tokyo has managed to do it with miraculous agility, the cost to the country in terms of both money and individual well-being has never been properly gauged. As the pandemic recently proved, it seems most people would prefer working either at home or much closer to home. At the very least, twice daily 90-minute-plus-long commutes on crowded trains take their toll, and the main reason is that they have to work in Tokyo but prefer living in a place where they can own a home without risking their savings and raising a family in a comfortable environment. 

Nevertheless, the idea of moving government functions out of Tokyo as a means of encouraging decentralization has never received anything more than lip service. Some years ago a tourist-related government office was removed to Kanazawa or thereabouts, and there was talk about transferring culture-related bureaus to Kyoto, but Tokyo remains the overwhelming center of the Japanese universe. 

With this in mind, it’s interesting to observe how South Korea has addressed its own decentralization problem. Seoul is also a kind of black hole that sucks resources and people from other areas of the country, attracted by the concentration of corporate, administrative, and educational functions. But the government has actually tried to do something about it, and a recent interview in the Asahi Shimbun with the mayor of Sejong, which is located in the middle of the country, points up the differences in approach between Korea and Japan. In 2012, the central government of Korea designated Sejong, then just a patch of dirt about one hour south of Seoul, as an autonomous district and the future administrative capital of South Korea. Now, some 23 government entities have permanently moved their operations there, which is more than the number that remains in Seoul. In the end, the only ministries that will not move are those involved in foreign affairs and national security. They even plan to build a second presidential office and second parliament building in Sejong. 

The current mayor, Choi Min-ho of the People Power Party, who was elected last year, has been involved in the project since its beginning. Choi is an alumnus of Georgetown but, more significantly, studied local government administration at the University of Tokyo graduate school, thus giving him a unique insight into how the Japanese government’s approach to decentralization compares to Korea’s. As he notes during the interview, the main difference is “the speed of decision-making.” In South Korea, politicians have more power in this regard than do bureaucrats. The opposite is true in Japan, he says, where all matters are discussed thoroughly by civil servants and thus take a long time to reach any kind of realization. “And once a decision is made in Korea,” he says, “we take action.”

Of course, such a process has its own demerits in that decisions made in haste require ongoing repairs and improvements. He presents as an example the transfer of personnel along with the offices in which they work. “We had to think about housing them and their families, and if they already owned homes in Seoul, it might be difficult for them to sell them and move here. Some may decide not to move, preferring to commute, and then the problem is transportation.”

Though these problems were formidable, in time they became workable. A massive construction project to build collective housing was approved and carried out, and the government built a high-speed train between Seoul and Sejong that takes 50 minutes one-way. 

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Not cool

According to news reports, the extreme heat we’ve had to put up with this summer is going to be a normal thing from now on. For a while it seemed as if Japan was going to be spared the worst of it, but that isn’t the case any more and forecasters are saying we’ll be sizzling until early October. The authorities warn people, especially the elderly, to use their air conditioners whenever necessary because heat stroke can creep up on you, even when you’re indoors and out of the sun. According to the land ministry, 89 percent of Japanese homes have air conditioners, but that portion drops along with income. Of households that earn less than ¥3 million a year, 84 percent have AC. 

There’s one demographic, however, that lacks AC almost altogether, and mainly for systematic reasons: people who live in public housing. An August 1 report in the Asahi Shimbun told of a 43-year-old woman who lives with her three children in a 3DK apartment run by the Tokyo Metropolitan Government for low income families. The rent and management fees for the apartment come to about ¥30,000 a month, which is half what the woman paid for a private rental apartment before she moved into the prefectural building 3 years ago. At the time, the apartment did not have an air conditioner, so she bought one for ¥70,000, including installation, at a discount appliance shop. Her apartment is situated on the corner of the 6th floor and gets a lot of sun, so nights can still be intolerable due to poor air circulation. The woman and her 13-year-old daughter share a six-mat room, leaving her two sons, one 19 years old, the other 17 years old, with a room each to themselves, but in the summer they all sleep in the same room because that’s the only one with AC, which isn’t strong enough to cool the whole apartment. Consequently, the sleeping arrangements in the summer are close and uncomfortable. During the day, they place electric fans strategically throughout the hallways to distribute the cool air, but it doesn’t work very well. The woman would like to buy a second AC, but there’s no place to put it. Her room is next to the veranda, so the fan unit can be placed there, but there are no other places in the apartment where a second AC could be installed. The building, which is 40 years old, was not designed with AC in mind. The electrical current in each apartment is set at 20 amperes, though it can be increased to 30, which still would not be enough. If the AC is on, she has to  be careful not to use too many other appliances, otherwise the circuit breaker will trip. And, of course, her electric bills are high. Public housing is notorious for having bad insulation, and her salary as a caregiver is only ¥220,000 a month. Besides, if and when she leaves the apartment, she is required to leave it as she found it, which means she will have to remove the AC and take it with her. 

There are 2.16 million public housing units in Japan, all run by local governments. The central government requires that all have kitchens, flush toilets, wash rooms, and bath rooms. AC is not required. The land ministry says that 60 percent of public housing units are more than 30 years old and 60 percent contain a head-of-household over 60. The Tokyo Metro government only provides 260,000 units (individual wards may run their own low-income public housing), 79,000 of which were built before 1970. None of the public housing in Tokyo comes with AC, though newer buildings have features that make it possible to install AC units. When Asahi contacted the relevant prefectural authorities, they said that older buildings are regularly renovated but not in terms of improving insulation or making it possible to install AC units. One staff member said, “We formulate design policies in terms of cost effectiveness.” 

A professor of environmental engineering told Asahi that all public housing in Japan is concrete-based and poorly insulated compared to wooden buildings. That means that temperatures don’t drop appreciably at night. Even if a unit in such a building has AC, it’s possible that the interiors will remain above 30 degrees. This is particularly worrisome for elderly tenants, who are more susceptible to heat stroke. Top floors are particularly dangerous since rooms sit right under the roof. According to medical statistics, about half the people who suffer from heat stroke and live on the first floor of a collective housing facility end up hospitalized while 90 percent of heat stroke patients from top floors are hospitalized. 

Another professor who studies low income households says that even when they have AC installed, elderly people in public housing often don’t use it because of the electricity costs. He cited statistics showing that most of the people hospitalized in Tokyo for heat stroke were old people who simply did not turn on their AC, especially this summer after electrical utilities nationwide raised prices considerably. He has demanded for years that local governments not only improve insulation in public housing, but that they install air conditioners in all apartments, because the problem of heat stroke among lower income people is only going to get worse from now on.

Resort resources

One of the resort condos in Yuzawa offering short-term stays

Last month, Gendai Business published an interesting article about the glut of empty resort condominiums throughout Japan and what some local communities and businesses are doing about them. This blog has addressed the “resort mansion” problem, which stemmed from a post-bubble construction boom of vacation properties. Many of these condos were built near popular ski resorts, since there was also a ski boom in the 80s and 90s that eventually went bust. Consequently, the owners of these condos stopped coming to ski and didn’t keep up their properties. Market values plummeted, sometimes, as Gendai points out, to as little as ¥100,000 for a standard 50-square meter unit. The reason for the cheap price was more than just low demand. Resort condos have higher monthly management and repair fees owing to extra facilities, like large, collective bathing facilities and ski lockers. Absentee owners were not paying these fees and anyone who bought the units were expected to pay them retroactively. There were also property taxes that local governments were keen to recoup.

Gendai’s take on the matter is optimistic, starting with the idea that, as inbound tourist traffic goes back to pre-COVID levels and the yen remains low vis-a-vis the dollar and other currencies, foreigners have become interested in these properties. The novel inference in the article is that most of the interested parties are rich Southeast Asians for whom snow is a fascinating draw. The reporter states that while “there are high mountains” in other Asian countries, “the snow doesn’t normally accummulate,” meaning that a sport like skiing isn’t feasible in these countries. Even China had to manufacture snow when it hosted the Winter Olympics. So if Asians do partake of skiing and they have money, Japan is a much more convenient destination, because ski resorts are eash to access from Tokyo or any other city with an international airport. 

The reporter may be stressing this point beyond its natural flexibility, but what he wants to show is why one ski resort town, Yuzawa in Niigata prefecture, is seeing a Renaissance in its property market. Yuzawa is an hour and 20 minutes by Shinkansen from Tokyo; 3 hours if you take a highway bus. And while some ski resorts in Japan have seen less snow in recent years, Yuzawa still has enough of the stuff to maintain its ski and snowboard cred. It may not be Niseko in Hokkaido, which is treasured by world ski freaks for its natural powder, but Niseko is also expensive and more remote and, besides, it seems to be overrun with Australians during the high ski season. So Yuzawa is accessible and affordable to a wider cross section of tourists. Moreover, it has hot springs, which are just the frosting on the cake for Asian travelers. And, in fact, as Gendai points out, this aspect at first made Yuzawa a problem for Asian tourists, since most Japanese tend to think of Yuzawa first as a hot spring destination rather than a ski resort, which didn’t really show up until the late 80s, so there are still some inns in the region that don’t welcome non-Japanese speaking guests. 

But Yuzawa has plenty of resort condos, and local real estate companies, not to mention the local government, are keen to introduce them to foreign buyers. Last February, another business publication, Toyo Keizai, ran an article focusing on the condo market in Yuzawa. Since the end of COVID, prices have almost doubled, which may not necessarily say much since, as Gendai pointed out, some units were going for as little as ¥100,000. But Toyo Keizai claims that the average price for a resort condo in Yuzawa now is more than ¥2 million. 

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Occupy Kyoto

(Kyoto Shimbun)

Last week, the Kyoto city assembly passed a regulation to introduce a special tax on unoccupied properties or underutlized second homes for the purpose of opening up the used housing market. Kyoto is experiencing an acute housing shortage that is pushing up prices and, as a result, making the city unaffordable for young families, who are moving out to the surburbs. Before the regulation goes into effect it has to be approved by the internal affairs ministry, and when it does it will be the first such local tax system that targets vacant properties, or akiya, as they’ve come to be called.

The regulation, which wouldn’t be implemented until 2026, targets three categories of empty properties according to appraised value: properties that are less than ¥7 million, those between ¥7 million and ¥9 million, and those that are more than ¥9 million. Each category would entail a different rate of taxation, and if the appraised value is actually less than ¥1 million, no extra tax is imposed for the first five years after the new regulation goes into effect. There are probably very few, if any, properties worth less than ¥1 million in Kyoto, since the appraised value would be for both the structure and the land together. Unoccupied properties includes non-rental condominiums and apartments that are empty. Excluded from the new tax are “historically significant structures,” such as Kyoto’s famous machiya row houses; as well as properties used exclusively for business purposes, rental properties, and empty houses and apartments that the owner plans to put on sale. 

According to the Nippon Keizai Shimbun, during the press conference to announce the new tax, the mayor said that the purpose is not to raise revenue, but rather to “improve civic life and stimulate urban renewal.” Apparently, the idea for the tax originated in a proposal for a kind of vacation home property tax, but experts who studied the proposal told the city that it would be better if Kyoto’s large number of unoccupied properties, including vacation homes that seemingly no one was using, were either made available for others to occupy or torn down and replaced by new homes. 

In effect, the tax would be levied on any property deemed to be unoccupied or vacant. The special tax would increase the property tax on such a property by about 50 percent, the idea being that owners who didn’t live there or rent them out would be thus encouraged to either sell them or destroy them and build something new or sell the land. Empty land, it should be noted, is taxed at an even higher rate, as much as six times as land which contains a structure, whether vacant or not. It should also be noted that properties that are categorized as residences but which are being used only for storage are not exempt from the tax; as well as properties that are only occupied a few times a year—though exactly how few isn’t clear from media reports so far.

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Honeymoon in the danchi

The administration of Prime Minister Fumio Kishida is determined to increase the birth rate—last year it fell below 800,000, 10 years earlier than expected—by any means necessary, even going so far as to suggest raising the consumption tax in order to fund programs that would encourage young people to marry and procreate, which sounds not only desperate but eminently wrong-headed. Another head-scratcher is the proposal to forgive student loans to either spouse or both spouses in a marriage when they produce a child, an idea that opposition lawmakers have found risible for a variety of reasons.

Koichi Hagiuda, the ruling Liberal Democratic Party’s policy chief, has another idea: Give young couples, regardless of income, priority to enter low-rent public housing. Tokyo Shimbun reports that Hagiuda made the suggestion at a party meeting in Saitama, saying that the first order of business for newleyweds is finding a place to live. The thing is, the central government doesn’t manage housing for the general public. Public housing in Japan is only maintained at the prefectural and municipal levels, so the government would have to get them to agree to the proposal. 

The party’s secretary-general, Toshimitsu Motegi, elaborated on the idea by saying that the usual upper income limitations would have to be waived for the proposal to work. He also said that initial estimates indicate such a program would cost about ¥150 billion, most of which would be spent on renovations of public housing. On January 30, Hagiuda explained in the Diet that the current income qualification for public housing applicants—household monthly income should not exceed ¥158,000—would have to be changed for newlyweds, but in any case he said it shouldn’t be a problem since there are 200,000 vacant public housing units nationwide.

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Putting on heirs, Part 2

On April 27, the government will launch a new system that will allow people to “return” land they own but don’t want to the state. The main reason for this new procedure is that there has been a marked increase in recent years of land whose ownership is not clear. In 2016, a specially appointed research group found that 4.1 million hectares of land in Japan, an area larger than the island of Kyushu, had no clear titleholders. If this trend continues apace, then by 2040 there will be 7.2 million hectares of unclaimed land. The reason for the increase is that it is assumed that as more land-owners die, a good portion will not have heirs to take over that property. Unmanaged land becomes a problem for the authorities in terms of disaster prevention and general administration, which includes appropriating land for public works and other projects. 

There are many reasons why people either abandon property they own or avoid inheriting it from family or relatives. Mostly, it has to do with the cost, including property taxes, of maintaining land and structures that they will never use and can’t sell, especially if they are located in remote areas. Sometimes the property is a rental apartment building that still has a mortgage but no tenants. Sometimes it’s a parent’s home that no one wants to occupy and, again, isn’t sellable for some reason. Then there are forested tracts of land that require management by law, which can be expensive. According to a survey carried out by the land ministry in 2019, 42.3 percent of people who own land or expect to inherit land think that such ownership is a “burden.” This portion goes up when the land is either vacant or zoned for residential use. In addition, 63 percent of unused or vacant land in Japan was inherited by the current owner, a common situation given that land inheritances are taxed at a lower rate than cash inheritances. 

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