Nearly 30% of Japan’s 124 million people are over 65, rising to 40% by 2050. With low birth rates, shrinking pensions, and labor shortages, millions work into their 70s as governments struggle to respond.
“Please move forward… Would you like a plastic bag? … That’ll be 3,000 yen… How will you be paying? … Cash is fine… Here’s your receipt… Thank you, come again.”
Hiroto, a cashier at a discount grocery store in Tokyo’s embassy district, repeats these lines daily. With salt-and-pepper hair and a slightly stooped posture, he takes pride in speaking English to foreign customers. It took months to earn his trust.
“I’ve been working here every day for eight years,” he said one evening, catching a bus home to Shibuya, where no one waits for him. Two weeks later, still at his register, he opened up about his past.
“I’m 73,” he murmured, making sure his younger Nepali and Burmese colleagues couldn’t hear. “I worked in real estate for 40 years, but the company went bankrupt, and I lost a lot of money. I have no choice—I have to work to survive.”
Hiroto’s story is far from unique. In Japan, one of the world’s oldest societies, seniors are everywhere—from public transport to TV screens.
Aging in the public eye
A third of bus seats are reserved for the
elderly and are occupied all day. Walkers, canes, and folding stools clog the aisles. Subway stations have elevators and train cars have dedicated seating. Public restrooms cater to
aging commuters.
On TV, daytime programming revolves around senior health, nutrition, and social life. Advertisements for adult diapers, anti-aging creams, and reading glasses dominate the airwaves. The elderly are portrayed as vibrant and fulfilled.
But this polished image hides a grimmer reality. “These ads only reflect a wealthy minority,” said Asuka, a social worker in Tokyo. “They don’t show what old age really looks like for most people in Japan.”
According to sociologist Shinya Ouchi of Kobe University, 10 million of Japan’s 36 million seniors are still working—often in difficult conditions.
The official statistics don’t even account for undocumented employment. Many take low-wage jobs simply to make ends meet, as pensions are often too meager to cover living costs.
'I’ll retire when I die'
“I still have 14 years left on my taxi loan,” said Kaito, 61. “I’ll retire when I die—I don’t have a choice.”
It’s a common story. Seniors in Japan work as traffic controllers, janitors, warehouse staff, garbage collectors, and bus drivers. Endo, 72, spent nearly four decades as a metalworker but barely receives $860 a month in pension benefits.
“Payouts have shrunk due to Japan’s aging population and declining birth rate,” he said. He now washes dishes in a restaurant for the equivalent of $9 an hour.
Japan’s pension system is notoriously complex, with benefits distributed between ages 60 and 70. “I officially retired at 60,” said Masayo, a 61-year-old accountant, “but like millions of others, my employer allows me to stay until 65—for half my original salary.” For many, staying employed is less about financial stability and more about maintaining a sense of purpose.
'I work, therefore I am'
Toshikazu Shiba, 71, retired from carpentry six years ago but quickly grew restless. “A few months later, I was bored and depressed,” he said. “Work is more fun!” He now has a job at a furniture store.
“After a long day, dinner and a cold beer taste so much better,” he laughed.
Despite stereotypes that Japanese people “love to work,” the reality is far more practical. Many simply have no alternative.
The postwar generation, which rebuilt Japan into an economic powerhouse, devoted their lives to their careers. “Here, work isn’t seen as a punishment,” said Ayumi, a former business consultant.
“In France, people say, ‘I think, therefore I am.’ In Japan, it’s more like, ‘I work, therefore I am.’ Retirement isn’t something to look forward to—it means losing one’s social identity.”
Aging in place
For many, retirement is isolating. Japan’s National Population Bureau reports that 8 million seniors live alone, and only half have daily conversations with another person.
To combat this, cities like Akashi—600 kilometers south of Tokyo—have implemented social programs for the elderly, who make up 40% of some neighborhoods. At the city’s six-story community center, seniors attend cooking classes, board game nights, and origami workshops—free of charge.
“We want to fight isolation,” said Matsuura, a local social services coordinator.
Mayor Satoko Marutani has championed free transportation, in-home care, and subsidized housing for seniors. Volunteers deliver hot meals in Neimai Danchi, where 44% of residents are over 65.
“It’s more than just food,” said Orikawa, who makes deliveries. “I listen to them, check-in, and arrange doctor visits if needed.”
Even the delivery drivers are often seniors supplementing their own meager pensions.
Japan’s 11,000 nursing homes are facing severe staffing shortages, with government-run facilities—costing at least $2,700 a month—unable to meet demand. Waitlists are growing. Private nursing homes charge over $10,800 monthly, pricing out all but the wealthy.
Despite calls to recruit more foreign caregivers from China, the Philippines, and Indonesia, Japan has been slow to open its doors. “Without a strong immigration policy, the country won’t survive,” said Kansai University sociologist Toshihiro Menju.
The numbers don’t lie
The future looks bleak for younger generations. By 2100, Japan’s population will shrink to 63 million—nearly half its current size. “Demographics don’t lie,” said sociologist Brad Glosserman. “Japan will have to manage its transition into a smaller, older nation.”
- Population over 65: 30% (36 million people), projected to surpass 40 million by 2040
- Life expectancy: 87.6 years for women, 81.5 years for men
- Birth rate: 1.15 children per woman (0.99 in Tokyo), one of the lowest in the world
- Working-age population: 74 million today, expected to drop to 60 million by 2040
- Immigration: Japan has over 3 million foreign residents, mostly from Vietnam, China, the Philippines, and Nepal—a historic high
Japan’s aging crisis isn’t just about numbers. It’s about a generation redefining what it means to grow old—and what it takes to survive.
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