On a small island in Japan's Seto Inland Sea, hundreds of fluffy, eager rabbits greet visitors, creating a scene of seemingly idyllic, animal-friendly tourism. Yet this picturesque destination, known globally as 'Rabbit Island', conceals a profoundly dark history and faces a deeply uncertain future for its furry inhabitants.
A Paradise Built on a Poisonous Past
The journey to Okunoshima begins with a ferry ride, the vessel's bunny-themed decor offering a playful hint of what is to come. Upon arrival, the island's famous residents quickly emerge from the undergrowth, utterly unfazed by the human guests. These animals, now numbering an estimated 400-500 individuals, have become the main draw for nearly 200,000 visitors in 2024 alone.
However, this Instagram-friendly paradise rests on a foundation of wartime secrecy and suffering. From 1929 until 1945, Okunoshima hosted a top-secret facility for the Japanese imperial army, where workers manufactured mustard gas, teargas, and cyanide. The operation was so clandestine that the island was erased from maps of the era. Here, about 200 rabbits were used in experiments to test the efficacy of chemical weapons later deployed in the Sino-Japanese war.
Kazuhito Takashima, manager of the island's Poison Gas Museum, notes a stark disconnect: "About 85% of people who visit Okunoshima come to see the rabbits and give this place a miss. Most Japanese people have no idea about the poisonous gas facilities." The museum preserves this harrowing history, displaying gas masks, worker uniforms, and photographs of the disfigurements suffered by those exposed to the lethal chemicals.
The Precarious Existence of Okunoshima's Rabbits
The current rabbit population originated in the early 1970s when a local school released a small number onto the then-abandoned island. Contrary to popular myth, a direct genetic link to the wartime lab rabbits is considered "very low" by experts like Professor Shingo Kaneko of Fukushima University, who has studied the animals' DNA. His analysis of droppings suggests rabbits have been introduced on multiple occasions, likely by people abandoning unwanted pets.
Today, the rabbits' survival is entirely artificial. With the island's natural vegetation—fallen leaves, bark, roots, and grass—severely depleted, the animals are completely dependent on pellets brought by tourists and volunteers. Shallow bowls of water dot the landscape, placed by helpers. "They depend on people for food, and that's not good. There is not enough natural food," warns Professor Kaneko. "The rabbits look happy enough in social media posts, but they have an increasingly precarious existence."
Regular visitor Koji Yamamoto, a retiree on his 30th trip, exemplifies this dependency. He diligently feeds the rabbits, especially in winter when tourist numbers drop. "You have to stay with them until they've finished, otherwise other animals come and help themselves," he explains. These predators, including wild boar and crows, not only steal food but also attack the rabbits.
Threats from Abuse and Neglect
The vulnerability of the population was horrifically underscored last year. Ryu Hotta, a 25-year-old, received a suspended prison sentence for abusing rabbits by kicking them and inserting scissor blades into their mouths. In a grim period between November 2024 and January 2025, the carcasses of 77 rabbits were discovered on the island, though the exact number killed by abuse remains unclear.
This incident highlighted the lack of protection for the animals on an island inhabited only by the staff and guests of a single hotel. The future of the rabbit colony is inextricably tied to the whims of tourism, a volatile foundation. Professor Kaneko observes a worrying sign: a relative dearth of visible droppings suggests the population may be falling again after a post-pandemic surge.
A Legacy of Light and Darkness
As the Lapina pleasure boat departs, tourists snap final photos, their visit often commemorated with rabbit-themed souvenirs from a shop on the mainland. The island is left in a haunting silence, a place of stark contrasts.
Professor Kaneko captures this duality: "I feel very conflicted when I leave Okunoshima. It's a place of darkness and light. Its connection with poisonous gas ended 80 years ago, but that doesn't mean it doesn't have problems … they are just of a different kind."
Okunoshima stands as a powerful symbol of transformation, its cute present desperately trying to overwrite a brutal past. Yet, the very attraction that saved it from obscurity—its rabbits—now faces a crisis of dependency and vulnerability, ensuring the island's story remains one of profound complexity and unresolved challenge.
