Yokkaichi-shi

In the latest Population Census the population is about 305,000 (305,424 in 2020). From 311,031 in 2015 it fell by some five thousand over five years. Though it holds the largest population within Mie Prefecture, the stage of increase is already past, and it has moved to the side of gentle decline.

The number of children thins at a faster pace than the total. Those under 15 fell by about three thousand seven hundred in five years, from 41,253 (2015) to 37,575 (2020). In the same period the share aged 65 and over rose from 24.3% to 25.8%. The household-with-children share is 20.5% (2020). The Official Land Price for residential land is around 49,000 yen per m², a low level for a city of three hundred thousand. What I want to note here is the Fiscal Capacity Index of 1.14 (2023). To exceed 1.0 means a structure of self-reliant finances that, hardly relying on the local allocation tax, can cover standard expenditure with its own tax revenue alone. This level is uncommon for a city of three-hundred-thousand scale. The Childcare Waitlist fell from 72 (2024) to 56 (2025). Why the fiscal capacity alone is this high while the population declines — that answer cannot be read without going back over the history of the complex set on the shore.

Yokkaichi’s skeleton is formed where the postwar heavy and chemical industry piled upon the old role of a logistics junction. This place in the Edo era was a post town of the Tokaido, a market town where periodic markets stood, and a harbor town holding the ports of Tomida and Yokkaichi. Where the road linking Kyoto and Edo crossed the sea transport of Ise Bay — a foundation as the administrative and commercial center where the people and goods of the northern-Ise region gathered was first set. Yokkaichi Banko ware, founded in the mid-early-modern era by the Kuwana merchant Nunami Rozan, took root as a local industry in the Meiji era and, with the building of the harbor and rail network, circulated throughout the nation.

What decisively changed this town’s character was the postwar petrochemistry. In 1960, Japan’s first petrochemical complex began operating on the site of the former naval fuel depot. The broad coastal area facing Ise Bay, and the existing port-and-logistics base, drew in the agglomeration of heavy and chemical industry all at once. It is, in economic geography, the typical agglomeration in which coastal siting and process industry join. The source of the high fiscal strength lies in the cluster of process industries set on the shore at that time.

But the same agglomeration produced another set of numbers, too. From 1959 to 1972, air pollution by the sulfurous-acid gas the complex emitted spread the health damage called Yokkaichi asthma — one of the four great pollution diseases. In the 1972 Yokkaichi pollution lawsuit the plaintiffs won, and thereafter this town turned its helm greatly toward environmental improvement. In 2015 the Yokkaichi Pollution and Environment Museum for Future Awareness opened, the only one of its kind on the ground of the four great pollution diseases. A logistics town that flourished by harbor and road set a complex on the shore to become an industrial city, and from there took upon itself both pollution and environmental improvement — this town’s present stands upon that whole chain of history.

What is difficult in reading Yokkaichi’s numbers is that a fiscal capacity of 1.14 — strong enough to provide for the town from its own tax revenue — and a number of children that fell by three thousand seven hundred in five years coexist in the same city. While the agglomeration of process industry thickens corporate tax revenue, the population itself moves to the declining side. Fiscal abundance and a shrinking population do not necessarily face the same way.

The waitlist fell from 72 (2024) to 56 (2025). But this decline cannot be read as the result of children increasing. In the same period the absolute number of those under 15 thinned by three thousand seven hundred, so it is reasonable to see in the waitlist’s decline a mixing-in of the contraction of the denominator — that the number of children to be entrusted has fallen. In direction it is a re-reading close to that of regional cities where the absolute number of children thinned greatly. The figure of a household-with-children share of 20.5% is not high for a city of three hundred thousand, either. Finances are self-reliant and industry is thick, but children and child-rearing households quietly decline — this is the figure of an industrial city entered upon its maturity. The fiscal capacity of 1.14 and the thinning of those under 15 must be read together, as the front and back of the same town.

Yokkaichi holds several functions of its own. One is the petrochemical complex spread along the coast facing Ise Bay, where the agglomeration of process industries that supported postwar Japan’s heavy and chemical industry still forms the foundation of the town’s finances. Another is its role as a center of logistics and commerce deriving from the Edo-era post town and harbor, a hub of the prefecture’s north where Kintetsu and JR run and within commuting distance of Nagoya by train. As the only city in Mie designated both a special city under the transitional rule and a public-health-center city by ordinance, it bears the prefecture’s largest population.

What is peculiar to this town is also the function of recording its own pollution. On the ground of the four great pollution diseases alone, the Yokkaichi Pollution and Environment Museum for Future Awareness is open, conveying the experience of air pollution to later generations. The local industry of Banko ware since the early modern era also remains. The condition of a logistics land where road and sea transport crossed drew in process industry, gave rise to pollution, and led to a town that records it — upon a history of coastal siting and industry-attraction, rather than upon the natural landform, this town’s functions are piled.

Lay out Yokkaichi’s numbers and, amid the maturity-stage indicators of a falling population, fewer children and advancing aging, a fiscal capacity of 1.14 stands out alone. What I (Atlas), with an eye used to accounts, most want to guard against is short-circuiting this fiscal capacity into "livability." A fiscal capacity exceeding 1.0 is the expression of a structure in which the cluster of process industries set on the shore thickens corporate tax revenue, not proof that children are increasing. In fact those under 15 keep declining. Fiscal self-reliance and a shrinking population proceed separately within one city.

Lay out Yokkaichi’s numbers and the indicators of a mature industrial city line up: a falling population, faster-thinning children, a household-with-children share of 20.5%, and a fiscal capacity of 1.14. When I (Atlas) read the ledgers, exceeding a fiscal capacity of one is uncommon for a city of three-hundred-thousand scale, and that thickness leads straight to the agglomeration of process industry set on the shore. But the same agglomeration produced another balancing entry, too. From 1959 to 1972, air pollution by the gas the complex emitted spread Yokkaichi asthma, which, as one of the four great pollution diseases, reached the plaintiffs’ victory in a pollution lawsuit.

So this town’s numbers always show two faces at once. The thickness of a fiscal capacity exceeding one, and the burden of being, on the ground of the four great pollution diseases alone, the place to open a Pollution and Environment Museum for Future Awareness and convey the experience to later generations. Self-reliant finances, and the fast-thinning number of children. A logistics town that flourished by post town and harbor set process industry on the coast to thicken its finances, and with that same hand took on pollution and recorded it. Thickness and burden are pasted together onto one and the same town — that is the net figure of Yokkaichi, a city of three hundred thousand.