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Dogs and Demons_ Tales From the Dark Side of Japan - Kerr [116]

By Root 1177 0
of a tidy fortune of twenty-nine kamme nine hundred and fifty-nine momme eight fun four tin and one mo. He then withdrew the money from the bank, put it into a chest, and eventually managed to loan it out himself. Before long he had one thousand kamme. From then on he made money more and more rapidly until by the time he died he had accumulated the grand sum of seven thousand kamme, and his name was even entered into the social registry of the thirty-six richest men in the Capital. The way this man took one shingle and two one-mon coins from his father and turned them into a millionaire's fortune should serve as an example, just like a mirror, of what a merchant can do in this world.

That was a charming fairy tale of the past. Today, nobody can dream of retiring and living on interest in Japan. «I look at my bank account,» says Ishigaki Hisashi, a retired auto engineer interviewed in The NewYork Times, «and you know, we get interest about twice a year – and I say, 'What on earth is this?' You can't say it's just interest, that it's just a small bit of money. We need it to live on. It's a matter of life and death.»

Until recently, many economists saw the sacrifice made by Ishigaki as admirable because low returns for savers meant «free money for industry.» The assumption was that an impoverished lifestyle for the people was somehow morally superior, and payouts to the public a waste of national resources. As we have seen, the idea derives from the poor people, strong state policy, a relic of military-style thinking that dates to the days of the samurai.

Oscar Wilde said that the mind of an antiquarian is similar to a junk shop in that «it is filled with dust and bric-a-brac, with everything priced above its proper value.» Japan is just such a shop. When everything is priced above its proper value, it takes more money to accomplish less; in other words, capital has lower productivity. Low capital productivity has surprising results, and one of them is that the Japanese, saving for fifty years at far higher rates than the Americans, now find themselves with proportionately lower savings.

Simple mathematics shows that it takes a very short time for interest gains to equalize the totals achieved by a high savings rate. Assuming an interest differential of 10 percent, Americans saving a third of what the Japanese save end up, after about two decades, with exactly the same amount in the bank! Another ten years, and the Americans now have double the amount of the Japanese. While this calculation is very simplistic – the interest gap is narrower for savings accounts and wider for pension funds-one can see how it was possible for Americans to go on guzzling champagne in the Jacuzzi and still come out ahead. There is nothing strange about this. It's merely the principle of compounded interest, an iron law of capital, but one the Ministry of Finance overlooked.

While bureaucrats borrow against the future to build more monuments, something more serious is taking place behind the scenes, which threatens the system more than all the combined waste and losses to date. The national debt, Zaito, and tokushu hojin are mere lizards compared with the real Godzillas: massive underfunded insurance, health, pension, and welfare bills.

The problem arises from simple demographics: Japan is rapidly becoming the world's oldest country. With a birthrate that has fallen to 1.4 (the lowest in the world and possibly headed to 1.1 by 2007), the number of young people is shrinking, while the number of old people is burgeoning. In 1997, Japan surpassed Sweden in having the largest percentage of people aged over sixty-five among advanced economies-more than 17 percent. By 2020, this percentage will have soared to 25 percent. (By comparison, the numbers for the United States, China, and Korea will be 15 percent, 9 percent, and 10 percent, respectively.)

An aging population translates into trouble for Japan's pension funds and health-insurance plans, which must rely on a shrinking pond of productive workers to support an expanding lake of old and sick

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