2 weeks Ago By Gearoid Reidy
On a recent spectacular spring day, I took a walk from Tokyo’s Shibuya to the hip district of Shimokitazawa. It was one of the year’s first days of T-shirt weather and the cherry blossoms were blooming. But by the time I arrived, my eyes were itchy and watering, my throat scratchy and I began hacking and sneezing.
There was only one possible cause, I figured: After more than two decades in Japan, it was time for my "debut.” Hay fever is such a pervasive and increasing problem that this is how people often describe the sudden onset of pollen allergy. "I’ve debuted this season,” they will say when they are beset by the cold-like symptoms after years of sniffle-free springs.
More than half the population may suffer from pollen allergy — indeed, hay fever has been dubbed Japan’s "national disease” and blamed as a major drag on productivity. The country spends $2.5 billion a year on allergy consultations covered by national medical insurance.
Some estimates say a bad hay fever season pushes down household spending enough to impact the country’s gross domestic product as sufferers stay indoors and put off leisure activities, like an annual minipandemic. And the numbers have been surging. The most comprehensive survey found sufferers increased from roughly 20% of the population in the 1990s to more than 40% in 2019, the last time the study was held.
In metropolitan areas it’s even worse, with nearly two-thirds in the capital saying they have hay fever, according to a WeatherNews survey. The leading theory for this sudden onset is that pollen builds up in the body over time. That could explain why, after 20-something years, it had finally caught up with me.
I had long looked at the hay fever sufferers as I did people with poor eyesight: with a combination of pity and smugness, despite being acutely aware that it would likely happen to me before too long. Friends had warned me for years that some day my luck would be up. So I faced the inevitable and booked an allergy test.
The national suffering is a self-inflicted wound. After razing many of its natural forests in the mad dash for materials during and after World War II, bare mountains were left behind, vulnerable to landslides. Authorities rapidly planted indigenous cedar, or sugi , trees, which were easy to grow and provided versatile lumber.
They now make up 18% of Japan’s forests; another 10% is made up of hinoki cypress. But the forests, all 4.41 million hectares, were a ticking time-bomb of pollen release, which increases as the trees age.
From around the 1990s, hay fever became recognized as an increasing problem. Doubtless, part of this is merely greater awareness, but the damage is real. It’s also been a boon for certain industries, from makers of face masks and air purifiers to drug firms offering analgesics.
It has even become a political topic. Tokyo Gov. Yuriko Koike included a pledge to reduce pollen allergies to zero in her 2017 manifesto (a promise that was left decidedly unfulfilled).
Former Prime Minister Fumio Kishida formed a parliamentary task force aimed at tackling the problem in 2023, but progress has been slow: Cedar forests must be replaced gradually to avoid the landslide problem, which is more acute than ever due to increasing heavy rains. The government now targets halving the amount of pollen released in the next 30 years and is trying to expand the pace at which it replaces cedar forests. For now, it must alleviate the problem.
In recent years, authorities have boosted the availability of over-the-counter medications that don’t require a prescription (at one point, powerful OTC drugs made for good souvenirs from a trip to the U.S.).
The government is also seeking to expand availability of sublingual immunotherapy, a treatment that exposes suffers to small doses of the allergen until the reaction dissipates by placing a small amount under the tongue every day for years. It also wants to support a genetically modified form of rice that would slowly expose consumers to the pollen, potentially in the form of a pill or powder. As for me, the results of my allergen test were unexpected: I am allergic to house dust (I knew that), cats (no one tell my two felines), as well as wheat and beef (so much for hamburgers.
) But cedar barely registered — I wasn’t allergic. I likely had a cold, possibly triggered by the kosa yellow sand phenomenon that blows dust from the Gobi desert at this time of year and lodges in the throat. It wasn’t my time.
But my debut will likely come eventually. And the experience has given me empathy for the suffering population. The Japanese have an admirable ability to grin and bear things.
But now I can better understand the frustration with the pace of change. After all, if nearby Beijing can clean up its self-inflicted pollution problem, then surely the people of Japan deserve their peaceful spring days back..
