I judge a publication
by what they write about things that I know something about or have a feel for.
If they get it right, I give it the benefit of the doubt regarding things that
I do not know and have no feel for. The Atlantic? People who have been reading my blog for some time may remember my take
down of a piece on the Japanese Tea Party. If that called for a big fat F, this
one…
This
Atlantic report states that Japan
“is currently home to more than 50,000 businesses that are over 100 years old.
Of those, 3,886 have been around for more than 200 years... But in the past
decade, some of Japan’s oldest businesses have finally shut their doors. Last
month, the roughly 465-year-old seafood seller Minoya Kichibee filed for
bankruptcy, which came after the news last year that the 533-year-old
confectioner Surugaya met a similar fate. In 2007—after 1,429 years in
business—the temple-construction company Kongo Gumi ran out of money and was
absorbed by a larger company. Three companies going bust doesn’t quite make a
trend…”
They sure don’t. At this rate, it will take the last of the
companies more than 200 years old another 13,000 years or so to fold. But then,
this should be no surprise if between “1955 and 1990, only something like 72 Japanese
companies went bankrupt.” Let me quote at more length.
“So if they made it 500 or even 1,500
years, why would any of these companies collapse now? The most compelling
explanation has to do with how the Japanese government has changed the way it
treats struggling companies, according to Ulrike Schaede, a professor of
Japanese business at U.C. San Diego. Historically, Schaede says, Japanese banks
helped out even the most hopeless businesses without a second thought. “Between
1955 and 1990, only something like 72 Japanese companies went bankrupt. The
reason was that the banks were supposed to bail them out,” Schaede says.
Then, in 2000, Japan passed its first
Chapter-11-like bankruptcy law, and four years later, rewrote 1922 laws
concerning corporate liquidation. This changed the default fate of troubled
businesses. “Non-performing companies no longer receive help from lenders
unless they have a solid plan for change,” Schaede says.
Something must have lost in transcription, because 6,468
businesses with 10,000,000 yen or more in total debt went bankrupt in 1990
alone,
according to
Tokyo Shoko Research. Coming at the end of the bubble economy years, this
actually marked a 24-year low, down from the post-WW II peak of 20,841 in 1984.
The figure jumped to 10,723 in 1991 and largely
kept climbing through the (first) lost decade to
18,769 in 2000, peaking at 19,164
the following year.
It is also only a half-truth that “in 2000, Japan passed its
first Chapter-11-like bankruptcy law.” The 2000 Civil Rehabilitation Act
replaced the Composition Act, which, its defects notwithstanding, had long
provided non-liquidation options for bankrupt businesses and their creditors,
together with the still very much in use Corporate Reorganization Act. More
damning to the point being made in the article, Kongo Gumi never went through
formal bankruptcy procedures. Instead, its business was bought outright by the
Takamatsu Corporation, where it apparently thrives as a subsidiary, building
and repairing temples and the like the old-fashioned way.
The conventional wisdom that banks kept zombie companies on
the prowl during the first lost decade appears to have considerable truth to
it, but bankruptcy numbers and the legislative record that the article relies
on do not support it. To be fair to the writer, that is not the only reason
that he gives for the (three) old companies folding. Let me quote at length
again.
Even if bankruptcy legislation is the
most logical theory of why these companies finally folded, it’s not the only
plausible one. It’s also worth noting that Japan’s cultural norms have eroded
quite a bit in recent decades, which turns out to be a problem for a company
selling traditionally-prepared squid guts. “Japanese Millennials are not that
interested in really traditional Japanese culture as compared to their
grandparents or parents,” says William Rapp, a professor business at the New
Jersey Institute of Technology. “As the old population dies off, there is just
not enough demand that is able to sustain such firms.”
Japan has also started to take a
different stance toward marriage, adoption, and inheritance. “It's also likely
become harder to recruit young men to enter a small firm under the presumption
that they will marry the president's daughter,” says Mike Smitka.
There’s plenty of truth to the first point, but does it hold
true in the cases cited above? The article makes much of Minoya Kichibee’s “salted
squid guts using a 350-year-old recipe,” but Minoya Kichibee is even better
known to the discerning Japanese gourmet for its high-end fish paste products.
In fact, it is the high-end nature of its preserved food product lineup that
forced it to seek protection under the Civil Rehabilitation Act, as routine
corporate gift-giving (where, incidentally, fish paste products were the safe
choice over the not-so-universally-popular salted squid guts) dwindled in the
post-bubble years. Meanwhile, cheaper fish paste products, salted squid guts
and other aquatic animal body parts as well as pickled plums (another item in
Minoya Kichibee’s product lineup) continue to line the shelves of supermarkets.
As for building and repairing temples (and shrines, don’t
forget them), most of the new edifices that have been going up are
steel-and-concrete, faux-traditional contraptions, where conventional
construction companies have a cost advantage. But Kongo Gumi probably could
have continued in its original form if it had not been lured into real estate
speculation during the bubble years, particularly if it had decided to downsize
and return to its traditional construction roots, as it was ultimately forced
to do in 2007.
I cannot find enough information on Surugaya to judge one
way or other, but in two out of three, it is at best only a half-truth that
“there is just not enough demand that is able to sustain such firms.”
As for the other point, I have no argument with the
statement that it has “also likely become harder to recruit young men to enter
a small firm under the
presumption that they will marry the president's daughter.” Suffice to
say, though, that this was irrelevant in the cases of Kongo Gumi and Minoya Kichibee,
since they were both being headed by the family scion at the time of their
fall. Again, I could not find the relevant information on Surugaya.
So there you are. The general points that the article makes
may very well be true. But the three examples it employs do not make the case
for them. Moral of the story: When you write about something that you do not
understand, do your homework. Otherwise, a straightforward update of the
Bloomberg piece that the article
links to (and refers to, bizarrely as a
Businessweek
item) would have been of more utility.