When Bears Stop Being Polite, Japan Calls Out The Army

In Akita Prefecture, bears have officially declared war on humans, and the local government is responding by asking soldiers to do something their training manuals probably didn’t cover.

The Situation Is Un-Bear-Able

Governor Kenta Suzuki of Akita Prefecture took to Instagram — because a state of emergency deserves to be announced somewhere between someone’s brunch photo and a cat video — to declare that his region needs military intervention. Not against foreign adversaries. Not against natural disasters. Against bears.
Specifically, Suzuki stated that “exhaustion on the ground is reaching its limit,” which is government-speak for “we’re completely out of ideas and someone needs to do something before these fuzzy murder monsters take over City Hall.” The governor plans to request assistance with a bear cull, presumably because the current strategy of asking nicely hasn’t been effective.
This request comes after a particularly bad Friday in Akita where a bear attack killed one person and injured three others. In a year when most people worry about their smartphone batteries dying, Akita residents have the slightly more pressing concern of being mauled by wildlife during their morning commute.
(The bears, for their part, have not issued a statement, though sources close to the situation report they remain “extremely furry and highly motivated.”)

The Numbers Are Horrifying

Akita Prefecture has recorded 54 people killed or injured by bears this year. Last year, that number was 11. For those keeping score at home, that’s nearly a five-fold increase, which is the kind of statistical trend that makes insurance actuaries weep into their spreadsheets.
Bear sightings have increased six-fold to more than 8,000 incidents, suggesting either the bears have formed some kind of organized scouting party or they’ve simply stopped caring whether humans see them. The latter possibility is somehow more terrifying — bears with confidence issues are apparently even more dangerous than bears with normal, healthy levels of fear.
These encounters haven’t been limited to remote mountain paths where one might reasonably expect to bump into a 140-kilogram apex predator. Bears have been spotted in towns and villages, where they forage for food with all the casual entitlement of a suburban dad at a free sample station. They’ve entered homes, presumably without knocking or removing their shoes, and have walked into supermarkets on at least two occasions. Store managers report the bears did not use the shopping carts, failed to observe social distancing protocols, and left without paying.
(One imagines a bear pushing open the automatic doors at a 7-Eleven, looking around at the selection of rice balls and energy drinks, and thinking, “Yes, this will do nicely.”)

Why The Bears Are Winning

The root causes of this ursine uprising are depressingly practical. Bear populations have been increasing across Japan since time began — or at least since humans stopped hunting them quite so enthusiastically. Meanwhile, rural depopulation has transformed once-bustling villages into the kind of quiet, abandoned spaces that bears find irresistible for real estate purposes.
Japan’s ageing population creates an additional problem: there simply aren’t enough qualified hunters to track down problem bears. The people who once protected these communities are either too old to chase animals through mountainous terrain or have moved to cities where the most dangerous wildlife is the occasional aggressive pigeon. The younger generation has shown remarkably little interest in taking up bear hunting as a profession, possibly because other career paths offer better health insurance and fewer opportunities to be eaten.
The bears themselves have apparently noticed this generational shift in human defensive capabilities. They now display less fear of humans than in previous decades, having concluded that modern Japanese citizens are more interested in their smartphones than in defending their territory. The bears have acquired enhanced boldness characteristics through successive generations of existence.
Japanese black bears, which are common across most of the country, can weigh up to 140 kilograms. Brown bears on the northern island of Hokkaido can reach 400 kilograms, which is approximately the weight of a small sedan with fur and teeth and a bad attitude.
(The author would like to note that he personally weighs considerably less than 140 kilograms and would therefore be considered “fun-sized” from a bear’s perspective.)

The Military Solution Nobody Saw Coming

Defence Minister Shinjiro Koizumi is scheduled to meet with Governor Suzuki on Tuesday morning, presumably to discuss exactly how one deploys armed forces against an enemy that doesn’t wear uniforms, doesn’t follow the Geneva Conventions, and has excellent camouflage in forested areas. Military strategists trained to counter tanks and missiles will now need to adapt their tactics to opponents who can climb trees, swim rivers, and smell fear from considerable distances.
The Japanese Self-Defence Forces now face an unusual expansion of their mandate. While the military has experience with disaster relief operations, “bear elimination” is not typically covered in basic training. Bewildered soldiers will receive briefings on proper tactics for engaging a target that moves on four legs, weighs as much as a refrigerator, and regards human settlements as an all-you-can-eat buffet.
Akita Prefecture has already begun distributing bear-repellent spray along school routes to ensure children’s safety. Elementary school students are now being armed with defensive weapons for their walk to class. The spray presumably comes with instructions, though “run very fast in the opposite direction” might be more practical advice than whatever chemical deterrent the canisters contain.
(The bears have not yet learned to use tools, but given their recent track record, it’s probably only a matter of time before they figure out doorknobs.)

The Unsettling Implications

The methodical nature of these encounters is particularly unsettling for paranormal and true crime enthusiasts. These aren’t random animal attacks driven by hunger or territorial defense. The bears are systematically expanding their range, learning human patterns, and losing their fear of the bipedal creatures who once dominated this landscape. They’re entering buildings — structures specifically designed to keep wildlife out — with apparent ease.
An animal has decided humans are no longer a threat worth respecting. For most of human history, we’ve been the dominant predators, the species that other creatures flee from. The reversal of this dynamic, the transformation of humans into potential prey rather than unquestioned masters of the environment, taps into primal fears that most modern people thought they’d outgrown along with their fear of the dark.
The attacks themselves follow patterns that suggest learned behavior. Bears returning to areas where they’ve successfully foraged before. Bears entering structures multiple times. Bears becoming bolder with each successful encounter that doesn’t result in consequences. Intelligent adaptation is happening in real time, and it’s happening faster than human systems can respond.
The fact that Japan — a nation known for technological innovation and efficient governance — needs to call in the military suggests that conventional approaches have completely failed. Animal control officers, wildlife management professionals, and local hunters have all proven insufficient to address the problem. The bears have won every engagement so far, and they know it.
(Somewhere in the mountains of Akita Prefecture, a bear is probably telling its cubs bedtime stories about the soft, slow humans who taste like convenience store onigiri.)

References

Japan’s Akita asks military to help with bear attacks as exhaustion on ground reaches limit

NOTE: Some of this content may have been created with assistance from AI tools, but it has been reviewed, edited, narrated, produced, and approved by Darren Marlar, creator and host of Weird Darkness — who, despite popular conspiracy theories, is NOT an AI voice.