Poverty, Food Insecurity, and Food Loss: Introducing a Japanese Food Bank

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When people think of Japan, they often think of a wealthy country with amazing food; indeed, Tokyo is the most Michelin starred city in the world (boasting 314 stars, including twelve three-star restaurants). There is another side to the story though: growing income inequality - Japan is increasingly a kakusa-shakai ("gap-society"). Japan's poverty rate is well above the OECD average with slightly less than 1 in 6 Japanese living below the poverty line. For one-parent families this becomes an astonishing 1 in 2 (child poverty in particular has become a real talking point in recent years). This is mainly due to a sharp rise in non-regular workers (hi-seishain =非正社員), a new "underclass" without job-security or the perks enjoyed by full-time workers who scrape by on the minimum wage.

This is not a reality that Japanese politicians want to face. When challenged in the Diet a couple of years ago, Abe insisted that "there is no way Japan is in poverty." More recently, LDP Secretary-General Toshihiro Nikai said that "there are no homes in Japan where people go hungry." But a look at the newly released UN annual "State of Food Security and Nutrition in the World" report tells us that this is not so. The report estimates the prevalence of under-nourishment in Japan at (less than) 2.5% with up to 600,000 people experiencing severe food insecurity.

The first food bank in Japan, in Asakusa-bashi Tokyo, was set up in 2002 and is called Second Harvest (the old name for the US Feeding America NPO). With a slogan of "turning mottainai (waste) into arigato (thanks)", Second Harvest receives donations from manufacturers, farmers, retailers, and individuals and distributes them to welfare agencies, orphanages, shelters, homeless, and individuals. The goal is "food for all people" (subete no hito ni, tabemono o =すべての人に、食べ物を). According to the homepage, they delivered 3,152 tons of food in 2012 and helped companies save ¥310 million in disposal costs.

The above paragraph only hints at the huge problem of food loss (shokuhin rosu =食品ロス) in Japan: in 2015 6.46 million tons of food in edible condition was thrown away (to put  this figure in perspective, this was about double the total food aid in the whole world!). A big reason for these figures in Japan is the so-called "one-third rule", an unwritten rule amongst producers and sellers. For example, if the expiration or "use-by" date (shōhi-kigen =消費期限) of a product is 30 days, companies must deliver the food to shops within 10 days or one-third (in contrast, in Britain delivery has to be within three-quarters of the sell-by-date period). Moreover, the rule of thumb for shops is to sell the product within two-thirds of the expiration date (this is the sell-by-date also known as the "best-before" date - shōmi kigen =賞味期限). What this means in practice is that shops will not accept goods delivered after the "one-third" window and that shops will return or dispose of any products that have passed the sell-by-date - despite the fact that they are perfectly edible. In many ways, this is the dark-side of Japan's obsession with cleanliness, hygiene, and perfect service - Japanese consumers can be very picky. Moreover, they never ask for a doggy-bag in a restaurant!

Fearful for their Financial Future: Young People, Pensioners, and Don Quijote

One of the surprising things that comes out of survey data on young people in Japan is that they have much lower 'hope for the future' (shōrai e no kibō =将来への希望) than their peers in other countries. For example, 2014 data showed only 66.2% of Japanese youth thought they would be happy when they were 40; in contrast, the figures for the other countries in the survey were all in the eighties. When talking to my students about this anxiety for the future, the key reasons seem to centre on work - low salaries, long working hours - and whether they will be able to receive a pension in the future.

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A recent FSA report on pensions merely fuelled this anxiety. Based on estimates of average living costs, the report highlighted that the public pension would be insufficient and estimated that an elderly couple living until 95 - 30 years after retirement - would need savings of some ¥20 million (£150,000/$185,000) to make up the shortfall. The ¥20 million figure caused a sensation in the media and was quickly disowned by the government: Aso, the finance minister infamous for fine dining and drinking in luxury hotels, said he would "not accept" the report and argued that the pension system "will never collapse." But burying the report doesn't change the fact that the figures were entirely valid: today, the rate of poverty amongst the elderly - currently estimated at around 19.4% - is even higher than the overall figure of 1 in 6 Japanese living below the poverty line (poverty and food banks were discussed in this earlier post).

So how do Japanese save money (setsuyaku =節約)? ¥1000 haircuts and "one coin" (¥500) lunches are one way, but thrifty shopping is surely the most common strategy. The growth of 100-yen (hyaku-en) shops in particular has been dramatic in the last twenty years, and at the same time as department stores have been struggling, thrift-chains like Daiso have been thriving selling cheap - but nevertheless reasonable quality and hugely diverse - products. Cosmetics in particular are hugely popular both among both Japanese and tourists, who buy bucket-loads as souvenirs! It's not only cosmetics either - there's loads of other products perfect for souvenirs, such as origami, toys, study materials, and snacks (see here). The picture below shows some other unique products: special decorative envelopes Japanese use for giving money at weddings and funerals; chopsticks, including special ones to teach children how to hold them properly; and a massive selection of bento boxes!

Talk of discount shopping wouldn't be complete without mentioning Don Quijote (ドン・キホーテ) usually abbreviated to Donki. Donki is a discount chain store which came into its own following the bursting of the economic bubble at the beginning of the 1990s: today there are over 160 stores in Japan, with others in Singapore, Thailand, and Hawaii. The stores are usually massive, open late, and full of all sorts of weird and wacky products, including anime goods and cosplay-style costumes. As you walk into the store, there is a sign that says kyōyasu no dendō (驚安の殿堂). This literally means "surprisingly cheap palace", though the kyōyasu is a made-up word: the Donki homepage explains that in contrast to the usual word for dirt-cheap, gekiyasu (激安), kyōyasu is supposed to capture the thrill/excitement/overflowing surprise at the cheap prices. I suspect, though, that for the millions of pensioners struggling to get by - and the youngsters fearful of never receiving a pension at all - the feeling is probably more akin to relief at somehow just being able to get by.