It was over two decades ago when Yuki Matsuoka first set foot on Tokunoshima, a subtropical island that rises gently from the cerulean waters of the East China Sea. Located 800 miles southwest of Japan’s capital, the island’s lush landscapes and the soothing rhythms of the waves quickly captured her heart. But it wasn’t just the natural beauty that drew her to this remote corner of Japan; it was something she had learned, something she hadn’t expected.
“I was used to the idea that two children were plenty,” Matsuoka, who was living in Tokyo at the time, recalls with a laugh. “But here, three or four is normal. Six or seven? Not uncommon at all.”
Matsuoka moved to Tokunoshima two years later to give birth to her first child, a daughter.
Tokunoshima stands as a quiet anomaly in Japan, a country that has long grappled with one of the world’s lowest birth rates. With a fertility rate of just 1.37 — compared to 1.70 in the United States — Japan faces a demographic challenge that’s common across many developed nations, where replacement-level fertility of 2.1 children per woman is increasingly elusive. The global trend toward smaller families is driven by economic pressures like rising living and housing costs, as well as social shifts such as expanded access to education and career opportunities for women, which delay marriage and childbearing. Since the 1960s, fertility rates have plummeted from a high of 5.02 to 2.2 in 2021, with projections anticipating a drop to 1.59 by 2100.
While the rest of Japan — and much of the world — wrestles with the challenges of an aging population and shrinking families, this small island, just 95 square miles with a population barely exceeding 21,000, has become a cradle of life. Here, the birth rate soars to 2.25, almost double the national average. Walk around, and you’ll hear the sounds of children playing freely until nightfall.
Tokunoshima feels less like a fantasy and more like a glimpse into the heart of a place that puts its future in the hands of the next generation.
As the plane descends toward Tokunoshima, emblazoned across the terminal building, a singular phrase comes into view: “Tokunoshima Kodakara Kuko” — the children’s airport. It’s an unusual greeting, but one that speaks volumes about what the island most cherishes.
Located in Kagoshima Prefecture, just an hour’s flight from the mainland city of Kagoshima, Tokunoshima lies between Okinawa to the south and Amami Ōshima to the north.
The name, shortened to “Kodakara,” was coined in 2012, on the 50th anniversary of the island’s airport. The image it conjures — children laughing and running along the sandy beaches of its three small towns — feels less like a fantasy and more like a glimpse into the heart of a community that places its future in the hands of the next generation.
Despite its idyllic image, Tokunoshima is not a place of material wealth. The island’s economy is built upon traditional industries such as fishing and sugar cane production — hardly the kind of economic engines that generate prosperity in the modern world. Yet, in Japan’s annual birth rate surveys, the towns of Tokunoshima consistently rank among the highest in the nation. It’s an anomaly that defies easy explanation.
Sonny Bardot, a Ph.D. graduate of International Christian University, spent six months on Tokunoshima writing his thesis on the island’s dating culture. He recalls one conversation that encapsulates the community’s unique pressures. A woman confided about the expectations placed on her by both her parents and the wider community to have more children.
“Women often told me that after three children, it’s basically the same,” Bardot explains. The community’s perspective is that once a family has several children, the older siblings naturally take on caregiving roles for the younger ones. “There’s no additional work between three to six kids.”
Understanding this positive perception of large families requires a look at the islanders’ deep connection to their home. In a recent local government survey, 95.5 percent of respondents expressed a strong sense of pride in being from Tokunoshima. According to Matsuoka, traditions play a pivotal role in this shared pride. “There are customs here that people ‘remember deeply’ from childhood, and they’re incredibly important.”
One such tradition occurs at key moments in a child’s life: one month after birth, upon entering elementary school, and again at 20 — the official age of adulthood in Japan.
Attended by nearly 100 guests, the host family prepares a feast including mochi rice cakes, and goodie bags filled with treats, in exchange for modest monetary gifts. Matsuoka, who experienced this tradition 18 years ago when her oldest daughter was celebrated shortly after she had moved to the island, remembers the exhaustion of the preparations, but also the overwhelming warmth. “The kids who experience that feel like they are truly welcomed by the community,” she reflects. “When you reach adulthood, you find yourself wanting your own children to go through the same wonderful experiences.”
“Everyone has the nantoka naru,” or “it will work out somehow” mindset.
For families on Tokunoshima, community support is crucial, especially given the financial burdens that they may face. With local wages often less than half of that in Tokyo, the island’s economic realities necessitate a collective approach to raising families.
“Here, if everyone else is out working the fields, sitting at home just isn’t an option,” Matsuoka explains. Yet, “there are always ‘hands’ to help and ‘eyes’ to watch over the children,” says Shinobu Yoshida, the director of health promotion at Tokunoshima Town Hall. “Kids are born into safety here, parents worry less.”
Before thinking about money, “everyone has the nantoka naru mindset,” or the “it will work out somehow” mindset, says Tomokazu Hiro, head of the Care and Welfare Division at Tokunoshima Town Hall, due to all the surrounding support.
In contrast to urban centers like Tokyo and Osaka, the three towns on Tokunoshima, despite their differing governmental approaches, are widely regarded as child-friendly. For instance, out of the eight elementary schools in Isen Town, four are considered small schools, with fewer than 20 students each. According to the Ministry of Education’s guidelines, these numbers should justify reducing the town’s elementary schools to just three. But the town’s mayor, Akira Okubo, who has served for six terms, made a bold declaration a decade ago: No schools would be closed on his watch. Even when one school faced closure with only 11 students, Mayor Okubo chose instead to construct public housing nearby, attracting families with children and thus revitalizing the student population.
This strategy has paid off, not just in keeping schools open but in drawing back those who once left the island. Many young people leave Tokunoshima after high school to pursue further education or employment elsewhere. However, the construction of new public housing has sparked an increase in “U-turn” migration — where individuals return to their hometowns after spending time away. Some towns on the island offer scholarships of around 50,000 yen ($350) per month for students in fields like health care and caretaking, effectively making their education free if they return to work on the island for five years.
But government officials on the island are quick to downplay any notion that they are doing anything extraordinary to boost fertility rates. “We were already No. 1 in Japan before a lot of these subsidies,” Hiro says, adding, “I think we try to listen to the people and that is what makes good results.” In some towns, services such as school lunches and medical care for children up to middle school are provided free of charge. Nursery schools, which are notoriously difficult to access in metropolitan areas like Tokyo, are not only readily available on the island but are either free or offered at a low cost.
One of the most significant supports for women on the island may be the financial assistance provided for in vitro fertilization. Last year, 12 women in Tokunoshima Town alone benefited from this subsidy, which even covers travel costs to Kagoshima City for those who prefer not to be seen in local clinics.
But when asked why they have so many children, island residents rarely cite these government initiatives. As one woman put it, no financial incentive — certainly not half a million yen — is enough to have a sixth, seventh or even a second child if you don’t genuinely want one.
In a recent survey, 95.5 percent of respondents expressed a strong sense of pride in being from Tokunoshima. Traditions play a pivotal role in this pride.
Unlike much of Japan, where marriage and childbearing are increasingly delayed, on this island, the norm is for women to marry and start families at a young age.
In fact, 45 percent of women between the ages of 20 and 24 are married, a stark contrast to the mere 7 percent nationwide. This early marriage rate is closely tied to Japan’s broader social expectation that children are born within wedlock — only 2 percent of children in Japan are born outside of marriage.
While dekikon — marriage due to pregnancy — is often stigmatized in other parts of Japan, nearly all marriages on Tokunoshima begin this way, according to Bardot’s research. Here, dekikon is seen differently. Rather than being viewed negatively, it often represents a natural progression in relationships, deeply integrated into the local culture.
Divorce, too, is approached differently. The island has a much higher divorce rate compared to the rest of Japan, but this hasn’t led to societal ostracism. The community is notably accepting of single mothers and blended families.
Bardot shares a poignant example of this cultural flexibility, recounting the story of a 28-year-old woman who had her first child at 18, only to divorce shortly after. When she later met another man, she carefully considered whether he would accept and care for her child from her previous relationship. After confirming his commitment, they started a family together, with the new husband becoming the child’s father in every sense. Such stories are not uncommon on the island, where the “Tsurigo system” allows children from previous marriages to seamlessly integrate into new family units.
Matsuoka, the transplant from Tokyo, emphasizes that while the island has its taboos, people here are generally logical and straightforward when it comes to marriage and divorce. Unlike in many parts of Japan, where single parents often face social stigma — she herself is a single parent — Tokunoshima’s community is more accepting, she says.
This approach to relationships reflects the island’s broader social dynamics, where community support and a focus on well-being take precedence. Japan has the oldest population in the world, with almost 30 percent of its population aged 65 and older. Tokunoshima mirrors this trend. However, unlike many parts of Japan where policies overwhelmingly focus on the aging population, this island has shifted its attention toward nurturing the next generation.
In Isen Town, a longstanding tradition involved giving celebration gifts to elderly residents aged 85 and older. The budget for this initiative stood at around seven million yen ($49,000) annually. However, several years ago, during a community meeting, a surprising request emerged from the elderly residents themselves: We don’t need the celebration money anymore, so could you allocate that money to the younger generation instead?
This request, which faced almost no opposition, led to a significant policy shift. Starting in 2012, the funds that were freed up were redirected toward child-rearing initiatives.
Since towns on the island were declared as having the No. 1 birth rate in the country, NGO leaders, politicians and sociologists have visited in hopes of catching a note of the baby fever. However, most leave the island “disappointed,” says Matsuoka. “It’s not a casual culture that could be built somewhere else; it’s something deeply ingrained in the life here,” she says. “We don’t just possess some secret here that you can take home and emulate.”
This story appears in the November 2024 issue of Deseret Magazine. Learn more about how to subscribe.