Dr Yifei Zhang
19 November 2025
From major media reports and widely shared posts on social platforms, it is evident that Japan has recently been plagued by unprecedented intrusion from bears on the prowl. Brown bears and Asian black bears have been breaking into densely populated areas at a record-high frequency, even venturing into airport aprons, forcing temporary closures of airports. As of the end of October, more than 170 people have been attacked by bears, resulting in a dozen dead. The Ministry of the Environment and the Ministry of Agriculture, Forestry, and Fisheries have classified the situation as “abnormal” and have urgently reallocated resources to respond.
The incident has drawn public attention, with the prevailing view being that climate change has led to a shortage of food for the animal in question. An economic scalpel applied to the issue will reveal that the crux of the crisis lies in the hunting community, as this traditional line of defence dividing humans and bears has broken down in modern economic society.
A buffer zone hollowed out to its core
Ecological factors are indeed the immediate trigger for wild bears to venture out of their natural habitats more frequently. Record-breaking summer heat and drought caused poor harvests of beechnuts, acorns, and other nuts, driving hungry bears to stray into human environments. This in fact reflects the deep-seated risks embedded over decades of change in Japan’s economic structure. The rapid economic growth and urbanization after the Second World War have acted like a powerful pump, drawing a continuous stream of rural population into the metropolitan area, leaving vast countrysides trapped in the predicament of depopulation and hyper-ageing.
Once meticulously cultivated farmland and orderly managed “satoyama” have been abandoned and left to waste. In Japan’s traditional ecological landscape, “satoyama”―characterized by a special emphasis on “socio-ecological and production landscape”―has long served as a buffer zone between humans and nature. Maintained in a semi-natural state through moderate human economic activities, the zone effectively separates wild animals from human settlements.
Nowadays, the abandoned buffer zone has become overgrown with weeds. To hungry wild bears, the untended fruit trees and the dilapidated refuse collection points near villages are just like open buffets. Amid the encroaching wilderness, the boundary between humans and bears has become blurred like never before. In fact, this seemingly accidental ecological imbalance is a concentrated manifestation of structural socio-economic issues.
Loss-making hunters breaching the defence line
In the face of sleuths of roaming bears, local governments could have responded in the traditional way, by enlisting the help of hunt clubs to drive them away or cull them. Unfortunately, the century-old line of defence is now wavering on the brink of collapse. To understand the reasons behind this, it is necessary to see from the hunters’ perspective and face up to the brutal economic reality.
First, let us consider the economic returns. It is alarming that, despite putting their lives on the line to cull bears, the hunters are paid only meagre compensation. A hunter in Nagano Prefecture discloses that he receives a government subsidy of just 3,000 yen (about HK$150) for taking part in a two-our mission to drive away a black bear. Such a token subsidy is more like travel expense reimbursement than payment commensurate with professional expertise and the risks involved. In the past, bear bile and bear paws were a lucrative source of income for hunters. However, under the increasingly stringent Wildlife Conservation Act, all related commercial dealings are strictly prohibited. While wildlife conservation is necessary, the ban has cut off the bear hunters’ only potential source of high returns. With no corresponding government compensation mechanism in place, there is virtually zero profit from bear hunting.
Next, let us examine the costs. In stark contrast with the minimal remuneration are the prohibitively high anticipated costs. First and foremost are the material and time costs incurred. A certified hunting rifle can easily cost several hundred thousand yen, with substantial annual expenses for maintenance and licensing, not to speak of other outlays for ammunition, fuel, communications equipment, etc. on every mission. A subsidy of merely a few thousand yen is insufficient even to offset these direct costs. Even more crucial are the time costs. A single hunting operation typically takes half a day to a few days. Yet government subsidies are calculated on the basis of each mission or at an extremely low hourly rate, with no regard for the hunters’ opportunity costs.
Then there is the life-threatening risk. One can imagine how dangerous it can be to engage a hungry or provoked wild bear. The 2025 bear crisis led to multiple deaths, including experienced hunters. Even more worrying are the demographics of those tasked with culling the bears. Aged 68 on average, Japanese hunters are referred to by the media as the “silver army”. Moreover, the total number of hunters in Japan has dropped from a peak of over 500,000 in the 1970s to less than 100,000 today. Sending such a dwindling team to confront bears that are growing larger in size and rising in number is tantamount to exposing them to deadly risk. However, the Japanese government has yet to provide adequate coverage for accidental injury or death.
In addition, there are also legal and social costs to consider. In Japan, under its strict gun control laws, firing a gun in urban areas entails significant legal risks. According to the Act on the Protection and Management of Wildlife and firearms regulations, hunters are required to ensure absolute safety during their mission. In the event of accidental injury to passers-by or property loss, they will bear hefty civil damages or even criminal liability. Such a “one careless shot and it is game over” consequence is enough to make many hunters think twice. Moreover, amid rising animal protection sentiment, Japanese hunters find themselves beset on all sides. Residents under the threat of wild bears urge them to act decisively, while animal protection organizations may brand bear culling as “inhumane”, ramping up pressure via social media. Subject to reproach whether they act or not, many hunters facing such a dilemma find it best to sit on the fence.
From the standpoint of the Economic Man (homo economicus), it is a foregone conclusion: the expected return from bear hunting is minimal, yet the anticipated cost is too high. Once the cost far outweighs the benefit, the rational choice is naturally to steer clear whenever possible. This is the fundamental economic reason why Japan’s dwindling hunting community has failed to respond promptly to the bear crisis.
Restoring incentives for guardians of community safety
The ultimate solution lies not in moral exhortation but in acknowledging the underlying economic logic and rebuilding the system from the ground up. The goal is to transform this public service into a professionalized undertaking that offers reasonable returns and manageable risks. I propose the following three courses of action.
First, establishing a professional pay scale. The symbolic, small subsidies should be removed and bear-hunting operations should be redefined as a high-risk professional public service commissioned by the government. One option would be to design a remuneration model encompassing a basic standby allowance, an attendance fee, and a performance bonus. The standby allowance would ensure the stability of the hunting team; the attendance fee would cover direct costs and time costs, and the performance bonus would reward professional expertise and the bearing of risk. The pay scales should be benchmarked against high-risk public service roles such as police officers and firefighters, ensuring that hunters’ total income is much higher than the national average.
Second, building a comprehensive national-level risk protection system is more crucial than increasing subsidies. The government should create a mandatory public insurance scheme for all registered hunters entrusted with official duties, including personal accident insurance, survivor benefits, third-party liability insurance, to cover accidental losses that may arise during missions, and legal aid insurance to provide professional support for hunters implicated in litigation resulting from legitimate operations. This coordinated package of measures will enable hunters to “dare to pull the trigger” without lingering concerns.
Third, systematic nurturing of next-generation hunters. The only way to address the “silver army” problem is to entice young blood to join the profession. The government should incorporate hunter training into subsidized vocational education programmes to substantially reduce the costs of induction training, certification, and equipment. The authorities should also establish an official mentorship programme that provides subsidies for veteran hunters to take on apprentices. Furthermore, promotional campaigns should be launched to reshape the public image of hunters, highlighting their professionalism as “ecosystem managers” and “guardians of community safety” to foster greater professional pride.
All in all, the 2025 bear crisis in Japan reflects deep-seated socio-economic structural problems, warning us that any approach relying on tradition, sentiment, and personal commitment is highly vulnerable in the face of the precise calculations and risk assessments of modern economic society. Addressing the issue demands the courage to confront reality and revise economic incentives and protection mechanisms, rather than relying on empty moral exhortations. Only by enabling this ancient and dangerous profession to gain the economic dignity, institutional safeguards, and talent succession it deserves in today’s society can Japan rebuild a sustainable “firewall” against the predicament of invasion from the formidable “army of bears”.
