Global Courant 2023-04-19 05:17:58
The Thursfields’ home, which sits among rice paddies in southern Ibaraki Prefecture, about 45 minutes from central Tokyo, was abandoned after the previous owner’s family refused to inherit it following the owner’s death.
The local municipality took over the property and put it up for auction with a minimum bid of 5 million yen (S$50,000), but it did not sell.
When it touched down on the block again, Mr. Thursfield decided to try his luck. After giving it a quick inspection with an architect friend and finding no major problems despite years of neglect, he seized the house for 3 million yen.
Houses in Japan typically depreciate in value over time until they are worthless – the cultural legacy of post-World War II construction and changing building codes – with only the value of the land preserved.
Owners feel little incentive to maintain aging homes, and buyers often try to tear them down and start over. But that can be expensive.
Others strive to keep what is.
“We definitely didn’t want to demolish it and build something new. It was too beautiful. So we decided to renovate instead,” Thursfield said.
“I’ve always been someone who likes to jump in at the deep end, take a few risks and learn new things, so I was very confident that somehow we would make it.”
Since purchasing the ranch in 2019, the couple have spent about $150,000 (S$200,000) on renovations, and there’s still more to do. Thursfield documented the project on YouTube, drawing over 200,000 subscribers.
While the Thursfields’ home had been abandoned by the previous owner’s heirs, some homeowners die without ever naming an heir.
Others leave their property to relatives who, out of respect for their elders, refuse to sell the family land, causing the house to wither.
“In rural areas, there’s a long history of ancestral akiya owners living in the houses and on the land,” said Kazunobu Tsutsui, a professor of rural geography and economics at Tottori University, who lives in a renovated akiya that is more than a century has been built. past.
“Therefore, even after moving to the city, families will not give up their akiya easily.”
Now officials at both the local and national levels are taking steps to give them a push.
“Improperly maintained akiya can degrade the landscape and endanger the lives and property of residents if they collapse,” said Kazuhiro Nagao, a city official in Sakata, along the west coast, where heavy snow can damage unattended structures.
“We partly subsidize demolition work, collect reports from neighborhood associations about akiya and try to make owners aware of the problem by holding briefings.”
Akiya is increasingly seen as a threat not only to the suburban and rural markets, but also to the emotional health of the country, leading to family feuds over inherited property.
That, in turn, has spawned a cottage industry of akiya advisors like Mr. Takamitsu Wada, CEO of Akiya Katsuyo, who acts as a counselor to quarreling relatives, often urging them to act before their property becomes a lost cause.
“In many cases, the parents die without expressing their wishes regarding the family home, or they develop dementia and find it difficult to discuss these things,” Wada said.
“In such cases, the children may feel guilty about throwing out the family home and may often choose to leave it empty.”
Municipalities across Japan also compile lists of vacant homes for sale or rent.
Known as “akiya banks”, they are often bare-bones web pages with a few underwhelming photos.
Some partner with private sector companies, such as At Home, which currently lists akiya in 658 of Japan’s 1,741 congregations.
“Akiya banks are run by city officials, the majority of whom often have no real estate experience,” said Matthew Ketchum, a Pittsburgh native and co-founder of Akiya & Inaka, a Tokyo-based real estate consulting firm.
“The existing solutions do not match the needs of modern buyers and sellers.” Mr. Ketchum’s company is one of many that sprung up to capitalize on the akiya glut by matching vacant homes with curious buyers.
