This generation of young people is starting to refuse inheriting huge inheritances.

Ask AI · Why Has Inherited Property Without Heirs Become a Burden on Japanese Society?

Author / Keith

Editor / Octopus

People pass away, but no one inherits their savings.

This is the current situation faced by many elderly Japanese.

According to Japanese judicial statistics, a total of 129.2 billion yen in inheritance will be ultimately collected by the state treasury in fiscal year 2024.

This figure has tripled compared to ten years ago.

Having worked hard during the upward economic years and accumulated wealth, but at the time of death, no one is there to inherit the estate.

This is not only a regret for many Japanese elders at the end of their lives but has also become a major problem facing the country—

Although unclaimed deposits eventually become government revenue, the issues they cause are clearly more complicated.

Tens of billions in inheritance, no heirs?

According to a chart created last year by economist Hideo Kumano, Japanese elders are now divided into two worlds of wealth disparity based on their assets.

On one side, over 25% of elderly people are penniless, unable to retire comfortably, and struggle daily for basic needs;

On the other side, another 25% of elders hold assets exceeding ten million yen, enjoying the various senior resources of this aging country and living their later years materially comfortable.

Regardless of whether they are wealthy or poor, in Japan, there is a high probability they will face the same fate:

Living alone, dying in loneliness.

After all, the number of elderly living alone over 65 has reached 7 million, with about half of them having no spouse or children.

So, “lonely death” has spread across class lines, leaving a trail of tragic data:

In luxury senior apartments in Minato Ward, Tokyo, and in dilapidated rural shacks, an unattended death occurs every three hours on average, and it takes an average of 17 days for others to discover the body.

In 2023, Japan recorded 42k unclaimed bodies.

Accompanying these are the savings that are only discovered after the elderly pass away, more or less.

At the end of last year, a Japanese company specializing in clearing out old houses released a video:

A 70-something Japanese elder was found dead alone in a house with no water or electricity.

Workers traversed a stench-filled, trash-strewn room, and unexpectedly found a thick stack of cash in an envelope on the floor.

After counting, it totaled 3.5 million yen (about 150k RMB).

Every few months, Japanese media report similar tragedies:

Someone nearly burned the 3.64 million yen inheritance hidden by a deceased elder at a waste incineration plant;

Or a worker cleaning out belongings steals the elder’s lifelong savings of 7.4 million yen when no one is looking.

The original wealth of the deceased—spouses, children, close relatives—who would normally inherit, are often absent at such moments.

Behind this, part of it is an inevitable consequence of the times:

Most of the elders with assets over ten million yen started accumulating wealth in the 1980s.

They benefited from lifetime employment and stable low pension contributions, profited from the asset boom before the bubble economy burst,

And after riding the upward dividend, they became what economist Isawa Yu calls the “lucky generation” that avoided all downturns.

In contrast, urbanization starting in the 1950s led this generation to lose their large family networks, and declining birthrates from the 1970s further reduced their descendants.

Additionally, since 2007, as long as both parties agree, divorced wives can receive up to half of their husband’s public pension.

Since then, the traditional male breadwinner and female homemaker model has loosened, and “gray divorce”—long-term marriages ending in separation—has become more common.

By 2024, nearly a quarter of all divorces in the country will be this type.

Relatives are gone, children are few, partners have left.

What remains is a Japanese elder and a large pile of Yukichi Fukuzawa’s notes, not knowing who to pass it to.

Some have saved from Showa to Reiwa eras, and even with little time left, they refuse to part with a single yen.

And when large sums sit in banks for too long, scammers naturally smell the money:

They may pose as estate planners or claim to offer lifelong trust services, aiming to trick elders into revealing their bank passwords and signing inheritance contracts.

Some scammers, under the guise of care fees, can withdraw 1.4 million yen per month from the elder’s account; malicious companies are caught, and investigations reveal that 80% of their income comes from the elders’ inheritance.

Of course, some Japanese elders choose to spend their lifelong wealth before they die.

They set up trusts worth millions of yen for their cats and dogs, ensuring they won’t be euthanized after their death;

Or donate directly to charities.

In 2023, Japan’s charitable donations totaled 64.3 billion yen, mainly used to “give back to local communities that benefited them in their youth.”

But the number of such open-minded elders is still small, so most of this vast inheritance ultimately ends up as government revenue, as mentioned at the start.

This may seem like an “unexpected windfall” for the state, but it actually signals a new problem.

Remember, Japanese elders’ inheritance isn’t just the numbers on their bank accounts; it also includes the real estate they purchased during their lifetime.

And many of these properties from the previous generation have now become burdens for the next.

Real estate—are they the era’s negative assets?

Contrasting sharply with some wealthy elderly who have no heirs to inherit their property are young Japanese who, despite knowing they have an inheritance, are eager to avoid it.

Because these inheritances are properties—homes bought by their parents during the upward economic years.

After decades of wear and tear, these once steadily appreciating concrete and steel structures have now become “negative assets.”

When heirs try to take over, they often find the old houses unsellable, rent at low prices, and maintaining these relics involves work such as:

Paying fire insurance, treating termites, removing wasp nests, repairing roof leaks and peeling exterior walls to meet modern earthquake standards…

Media estimates that annually, conservatively, maintaining such a property costs between 200k and 500k yen, and in bad luck, it could even cost 1 million yen.

Seemingly inheriting an old family home is actually just inheriting the debt of the deceased.

This calculation discourages younger generations from continuing the family business.

So, in March this year, Yomiuri Shimbun reported a case:

In Osaka, an old two-story wooden house caused a pest infestation years ago, upsetting neighbors.

It was found that the owner had died years earlier, and the two children had long abandoned their inheritance rights.

Officials had to trace along bloodlines, visiting dozens of relatives, facing countless rejections, before finding someone willing to take on this negative asset.

Similar stories include abandoned dangerous buildings that, after being left idle too long, cause wall deterioration, leading local governments to demolish them after failed attempts to find heirs; or siblings fighting over high annual repair costs after inheriting their father’s property…

By the way, not only real estate—many Japanese heirs also refuse to maintain their ancestors’ “posthumous residences.”

Traditional Japanese family graves are often remote, and descendants must pay hefty annual management fees to temples.

Over time, some have even removed their ancestors from solitary tombs to place their ashes in columbariums or have them naturally returned to the earth.

In 2023, the number of “retirement from graves” reached 167k times in one year, a new high.

Many temples, seeking to profit, charge exorbitant “disinterment fees” of several million yen, sparking numerous disputes.

In the end, only companies specializing in managing unclaimed graves are willing to take on these negative assets.

Their websites show that many plots and houses of hundreds or thousands of square meters can now be bought for just a few tens of thousands of yen.

Most are in remote locations, and initial maintenance costs are high.

As more elders pass away, the scale of these unclaimed “dead lands” grows:

By 2016, Japan had 4.1 million hectares of land with unclear ownership or uncontactable registrants—more than the entire Kyushu island.

By 2040, this is projected to expand to 7.2 million hectares, roughly the size of Hokkaido.

This means that future development projects or disaster prevention efforts could be hampered by large swaths of land with no owners or unclear titles, delaying overall progress.

Some agencies predict that by 2040, the indirect economic loss caused by these wetlands alone could reach 300 billion yen annually.

This sum, combined with the unclaimed deposits collected by the government each year, results in a net loss—where the costs outweigh the benefits.

Thus, the current situation is:

Hundreds of billions of yen in unclaimed deposits accumulated during prosperous times, but due to lack of heirs, cannot be invested in future generations’ happiness;

Vast abandoned old houses, once symbols of wealth, now become burdens on progress.

The dividends of the era, soaked in time, have turned into a troublesome dilemma.

For Japan, this is not only a matter affecting individuals but also a metaphor for the complete disappearance of the golden age.