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Baby Bust Empties Out Japan's Schools
By Anthony Faiola
NISHIKI, Japan; washingtonpost.com; March 3, 2005-- When Kami
Hinokinai Junior High opened half a century ago in this picturesque
northern village, Fukuyo Suzuki, then a young mother, remembers
joining other parents on a warm May afternoon to plant pink azaleas
in the schoolyard.
The azaleas are still here, though bare in the winter snow and,
like the new occupants of the school, more fragile than they once
were. In a nation grappling with a record low birthrate and the
world's longest average lifespan, Suzuki, 77, is spending the
daytime hours of her twilight years back in the halls of her son's
old school.
The junior high, which ceased operation six years ago because
of a shortage of children, now houses a community center for the
elderly. Suzuki comes to pass her time sipping green tea and weaving
straw baskets with other aging villagers.
"I never imagined this school would close and that I would
be back here myself," said Suzuki, a farmer's widow who lives
with her 52-year-old son. Like one out of four men in Nishiki,
her son remains single and childless. "Now, I hear our elementary
school is going to close, too," she said. "It's so sad
for us. Children are vanishing from our lives."
The change at the junior high in this shrinking village of 5,924
is an example of what analysts describe as Japan's greatest national
problem, a combination baby bust and senior citizen boom. Indeed,
next year Nishiki is set to pay the highest price for its shrinking
population: Unable to sustain its annual budget, it will join
a growing list of Japanese towns that have officially ceased to
exist and have merged with a neighboring city.
In the aftermath of World War II, the rush to build a modern economy
sparked migration from rural towns such as Nishiki to Japan's
urban centers. But officials say the lure of the big city is no
longer the key factor driving depopulation. For at least the past
decade, the leading cause of the town's shrinking population base
has been a disturbingly low birthrate.
Last year, 42 babies were born in Nishiki, the lowest number since
the town was incorporated in the 1950s, while 75 villagers died,
according to local statistics. Nishiki's plight, analysts said,
could be an omen of Japan's future.
The national child shortage, even as the population ages, is raising
fears about Japan's long-term ability to maintain its status as
the world's second-largest economy after the United States. With
more Japanese choosing to remain single and forgoing parenthood,
the population of almost 128 million is expected to decrease next
year, then plunge to about 126 million by 2015 and about 101 million
by 2050.
Many people are asking: Will there be enough Japanese left to
participate in the economy in the years to come?
"A nation requires a certain scale in the population to continue
its momentum, but in Japan, we are confronting a serious combination
of a low birthrate and an aging nation," said Kota Murase,
a deputy director at Japan's Education Ministry. "Our pension
system is already being tested to its limits. And with fewer young
people in society, the question is: How are we going to sustain
the elderly and the nation's future? We don't have a clear answer
yet."
Japan's disappearing schools are emblematic of the problem. More
than 2,000 elementary, junior high and high schools nationwide
have been forced to close over the past decade. The number of
elementary and junior high students fell from 13.42 million in
1994 to 10.86 million last year. An estimated 63,000 teachers
have lost their jobs. Even as the percentage of people over 65
steadily climbs, an estimated 300 more schools a year are scheduled
to shut their doors over the next several years -- including Nishiki's
122-year-old Kami Hinokinai Elementary School, whose final graduating
class will leave in 2007.
"We simply can't go on as we are," said Nishiki's mayor,
Chiyoshi Tashiro, 55. "We don't have enough children being
born to continue as an independent village. It is sad, but it
is our reality."
The baby shortage is altering Japanese society and traditions.
In Kisawa, a town on Japan's Shikoku island, elders at the Unai
Shrine have long called out the names of newborns at their autumn
festival for happiness and health. Last year, there were no new
babies to announce.
The lavish department stores of Tokyo have begun eliminating their
rooftop playgrounds, replacing them with cafes and picnic areas
for adults and the elderly. Over the past decade, 90 theme parks
designed for children have closed in Japan; in the same period,
Disney opened a popular sea-themed amusement park just outside
Tokyo that targets adults more than children and allows the sale
of alcohol.
As many as 117 hospitals nationwide now have no permanent obstetrician
due to lack of demand and a shrinking pool of obstetricians and
gynecologists, according to a survey conducted last year by a
medical society based in Tokyo. The number of hospitals in Japan
with pediatric wards shrank to 3,473 in 2000 from 4,119 in 1990,
according to government statistics.
The list of solutions is short and complicated. The most obvious
-- opening Japan to more immigration -- is enormously controversial
in a society that is 98.8 percent ethnically homogeneous and,
in many respects, still markedly xenophobic. Some farmers in Nishiki
who have failed to find Japanese women willing to live traditional
lives in rural villages have sought brides in China instead. But
village officials said several of the Chinese women fled after
they failed to win the acceptance of their new in-laws.
Although it is a national problem, depopulation is most severe
in rural areas such as Nishiki, a proud farming and forestry town
248 miles north of Tokyo where the population peaked at 9,180
in 1956. Over the years, families left Nishiki, seeking better
fortunes in Japanese cities. The population stabilized in the
1980s, but the birthrate began declining in the 1990s.
It has happened in part because towns such as Nishiki suffer from
a shortage not only of children, but also of eligible women. When
Japan's economic bubble burst in 1990, Japanese companies seeking
less expensive alternatives to men began hiring women for contract
and part-time jobs. Gender roles have changed as a result. With
increasing financial independence, more women are avoiding marriage.
According to a poll released this week by Japan's Yomiuri newspaper,
seven out of 10 single Japanese women say they have no desire
to become wives -- a role that in Japan still largely means staying
home and raising children.
In Nishiki, daughters are now more likely to leave to seek work
in big cities, while their brothers stay behind to claim their
family inheritance rights. Single men in the village exceed the
number of available women by a ratio of about 3 to 2. "It's
hard here," said Kazutsugu Asari, 47, an unmarried employee
of the city's construction department. "There are lots of
single men but fewer women. And many are not interested in traditional
lives. I can understand why the women would leave town. But I
have an obligation to stay as the eldest son."
Japan has tried just about everything to boost the fertility rate,
or number of children per woman, which hit a record low of 1.29
in 2003, compared with 2.01 in the United States. Nishiki is offering
cash awards to families that have more than one child, even sponsoring
mixers to bring young couples together. But so far, officials
concede, most attempts have failed.
Kami Hinokinai Elementary School, where the number of students
peaked at 266 in 1960, awaits closure. Today, there are 33 students
left, 11 of whom will graduate this year. Only five new students
will enter the school this year. Those numbers prompted the decision
to shut Kami Hinokinai in 2007 and bus the remaining children
to a school about 40 minutes away.
With no other children their age, the two girls and boy in the
second grade have learned to make do. Tatsuya Wakamatsu, 8, a
quiet boy in a black sweatshirt, says he persuades the girls to
play baseball with him at recess and after school. In return,
he grudgingly agrees to jump rope with them. "There aren't
so many kids for us to play with in the neighborhood and sometimes
the older kids tease us, so the three of us always play together,"
he said.
Adults take part in sporting events to help the students form
soccer and baseball teams. Last year, first-grader Takuya Suzuki,
7, had to play two roles in the school play. "I was a mouse
and a grandfather," he said, laughing.
When a baby is born in Nishiki, it is huge news. Last August,
Yuna Wakamatsu arrived in a part of the community where no child
had been born for 10 years. Traditionally, only women would come
calling, offering gifts of food and money. But the men also turned
out this time, showering Yuna with so many gifts that they now
fill most of one room in the Wakamatsus' wood-frame home. "They
all wanted to see the face of a baby again," said her beaming
grandmother, Tazuko Wakamatsu, 59, who takes care of the infant
because both parents work.
In Nishiki, the last pediatrician switched careers in the 1990s,
becoming a geriatric specialist. The nearest doctor for Yuna Wakamatsu
is almost an hour away in bad weather. "But I suppose there
is nothing that can be done about it," said her grandmother.
"It's just how it is."
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