More than 1.5 million people visit Ishigaki Island each year by air and sea.

Today, Ishigaki has grown into one of Japan’s most recognized subtropical resort destinations, attracting attention not only from within Japan, but also from overseas. Traditionally, however, this island was built around agriculture, especially sugarcane and pineapple farming. Unlike larger urban regions, it has never had a major industrial or manufacturing base. As a result, tourism and service-related industries have become one of the main pillars supporting the local economy.

That reality supports not only people who were born and raised here, but also many who moved to the island after being drawn to its nature and way of life.

Because of this, I believe that the future of Ishigaki as a sustainable tourism destination depends on the relationship between three groups of people:

Those who live their daily lives on this island.
Those who work in tourism and hospitality.
And those who travel from far away seeking the island’s nature, culture, and atmosphere.

For a small island like this, the ability of these three groups to coexist in a healthy and balanced way is essential.

As I wrote previously in Between Travel and Tourism, I do not think tourism is simply about attracting more visitors. At its best, it is also about creating a respectful relationship between the people who live in a place and the people who come to experience it.

In reality, however, tourism development has long been driven primarily by numbers.

How many visitors can be brought in?
How much economic impact can be generated?

For many years, tourism policy and promotion were centered around that competition.

More recently, however, terms such as “overtourism” have entered public discussion, and greater attention is now being paid to the negative pressures tourism can place on local communities and natural environments.

Ishigaki is no exception.

As visitor numbers have grown, issues that were once less visible have gradually begun to surface.

In the past, many visitors to places like Okinawa and the remote islands were passionate repeat travelers with a deep interest in the region itself. Today, however, social media and online videos can suddenly bring people here with little understanding of where they are arriving.

That is not necessarily a bad thing. Everyone has a first journey.

But wherever attention, money, and popularity gather, various forms of economic activity inevitably follow.

And among them are people who engage with the island with little real connection to the place itself, reducing nature and culture into something easily consumed for short-term profit.

Nature experiences offered without sufficient knowledge or responsibility.
Services that neglect proper safety awareness.
An “island atmosphere” consumed without understanding its history or context.

I feel these things slowly erode the trust and character of a place over time.

In Ishigaki City’s tourism crisis management plan, “declining tourism quality” is explicitly identified as one form of tourism crisis.

I believe this is an important point.

And personally, I feel that this decline is caused not only by visitors, but often by the attitudes and awareness of those on the receiving side as well.

Of course, rules and oversight are necessary.

But in reality, regulations alone cannot solve everything.

Recently, I have found myself thinking about decentralized systems on the internet.

In some of these systems, there is no single powerful authority overseeing everything. Instead, the system maintains trust because many participants observe one another, verify one another, and naturally correct harmful behavior when it appears.

Of course, a local community or tourism industry cannot be compared directly to digital systems.

But on an island the size of Ishigaki, I sometimes feel that if people who genuinely care about this place could remain loosely connected — regardless of where they come from or what role they hold — they could help create a healthier atmosphere simply by paying attention to one another’s actions and values.

Not through exclusion.
Not through rigid control.

But through a shared respect for sincerity, responsibility, safety, and care for the island itself.

Local or newcomer.
Resident or tourism operator.

Rather than dividing people through simple categories, perhaps what matters more is whether people genuinely wish to protect the future of this place.

Small islands are shaped not only by policies and economics, but also by atmosphere, relationships, and trust accumulated over time.

And lately, I have been thinking that perhaps those quiet connections between people may become one of the most important things for Ishigaki’s future.