How labour shortages are reshaping daily life and politics in Japan

Japan faces severe workforce shortage

Japan’s workforce crisis is no longer a distant forecast but a lived reality. From carpenters and chefs to soldiers, bus drivers and accountants, the country is running perilously low on people to do essential jobs. In construction, where wood is widely used, the number of carpenters has halved since 2020, and nearly half of those who remain are over 65. Tokyo bus operators have already cut services because they cannot recruit enough drivers. Even government ministries are struggling: the Foreign Ministry admitted this year it cannot hire enough Japanese chefs for its embassies, the Financial Times reported.

The shortage is felt in everyday life. Deliveries that once came swiftly are now slower, customer service feels less personal, and public services are stretched. Economists have described this across-the-board decline as “enshortification” — a shrinking not only of the labour force but also of the quality and pace of services Japanese citizens once took for granted.

Why the shortage is different this time

Japan has been living with an ageing population for decades, but several forces are now colliding at once. Inflation has eroded household budgets, wages have not kept pace, and younger workers are not entering professions at the rate older ones are retiring. At the same time, the social expectation of world-class service has remained, making every decline more noticeable. For a society that prides itself on efficiency and politeness, even small lapses in service carry an outsized impact.

The political challenge for Takaichi

Into this environment steps Sanae Takaichi, the ruling Liberal Democratic Party’s new leader and the first woman to become prime minister. Her rise is historic, but her challenge is daunting. She inherits an economy squeezed by rising prices and shrinking manpower, and must persuade a frustrated public that she has answers where her predecessor fell short.

Takaichi is a nationalist and a conservative, long sceptical of immigration. Yet that may give her unusual political space. Unlike her predecessors, she can argue that opening the doors wider to foreign workers is not a betrayal but reluctant realism. Her record makes it harder for critics on the right to accuse her of diluting Japanese culture, even if she loosens immigration policy.

Technology is not a quick fix

Japan has long placed faith in robotics and artificial intelligence to plug labour gaps. But while automation has helped in manufacturing, other areas — from caregiving and health to transport and construction — still depend heavily on human labour. The speed and depth of current shortages mean technology alone cannot resolve the crisis fast enough.
Immigration as survival strategy

That leaves immigration as the most immediate lever. Takaichi has hinted at the need for a national conversation about what increased immigration means for Japanese culture, public finances and identity. Public anger so far has been less about immigrants themselves than about the lack of open debate. By treating immigration as a serious national discussion, she may be able to steer policy change without losing political credibility.

What it means for citizens

For ordinary Japanese, “enshortification” is already visible in slower deliveries, fewer buses, longer waits for services and an overall sense that daily life is fraying. Unless new solutions emerge, those inconveniences may harden into structural decline. Takaichi faces the twin challenge of stabilizing the economy and convincing the public that uncomfortable choices — especially around immigration — are unavoidable. How she handles this may shape not just her tenure, but Japan’s future.