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Welcome to the blog of the research project “Urban-rural migration and rural revitalization in Japan”. This project is funded by the German Research Foundation (DFG) and started in October 2020. Professor Cornelia Reiher (PI) and her team from the Institute of Japanese Studies at Freie Universität Berlin investigate the impacts of urban-rural migration on rural revitalization in Kyūshū, Japan’s most southern main island. In this blog, our group will give insights into the research process and progress, present first results, share information about our field sites and on related projects and publications. It also features guest contributions by students, PhD students, colleagues and practitioners from Freie Universität Berlin, Japan and universities around the world who work on related projects focusing on urban to rural migration and rural Japan. The editor of this blog is Professor Cornelia Reiher.

Guest Contribution: Working from home: Remote work in rural Japan

by Christoph Barann

A traditional Japanese-style house (kominka) over 100 years old in the middle of a beautiful Japanese garden provides a home for the unconventional non-Japanese Andy. The American software engineer decided to move with his wife to the new house in a rural part of Wakayama Prefecture after previously working for large technology companies in Tokyo and the United States. Andy’s move as a technology-oriented foreign migrant to a rural town in Japan is emblematic of a change in the world of work in 21 century Japan. In our course on rural Japan, we have talked about many migrants similar to Andy. They are foreign, mostly young, highly skilled people who have not settled in the traditional work centers of Japan such as Tokyo, Osaka or Fukuoka. Instead, all these migrants have taken advantage of technological developments and changing working conditions in Japanese companies to enable a move to quiet, natural landscapes without jeopardizing their jobs (Wakayama Life n.d.). What all these migrants have in common is that they make use of remote working (terewāku), where internet technology is used to work from home for companies instead of commuting to the office. Remote working has taken root in Japan during the Covid-19 pandemic from 2020 as an alternative to traditional office jobs. The Covid-19 pandemic prompted Japanese companies to look to other regions such as Southeast Asia, Western Europe and the United States, where remote working was already an established method before the pandemic. Although the number of home workers declined as the pandemic subsided, the concept has nevertheless remained an important issue in the question of employment in modern Japan.

Renovating an old farmhouse in the countryside and working remotely have become very popular during the Covid-19 pandemic in Japan.
Copyright © Cornelia Reiher 2022

Andy’s interview on a website promoting migration to Wakayama Prefecture mentions a trend that is still common in Japan today. (Mostly male) workers leave their rural homes during the week to commute to jobs in the big cities. Often they do not return home at all during the week and live in second homes near their workplace. Remote working can offer a solution to the emotional and financial hardships that such a routine can bring by allowing people to work for companies in the big cities or even abroad without leaving their rural homes. Remote working may also lead to a change in Japanese attitudes towards employment and, in particular, hierarchies within Japanese office culture. Japan’s culture of long hours, overtime and strict hierarchies has been blamed in the past for the country’s demographic decline, as married couples struggle to balance work commitments with raising children. A less hierarchical office culture could also encourage the influx of highly skilled workers from abroad as Japan becomes a more attractive country to work in.

Social distancing during the Covid-19 pandemic prompted Japanese companies to introduce remote work.
Copyright © Cornelia Reiher 2022

As part of a broader Digital Agenda for Japan, former Prime Minister Kishida sought to increase the availability of internet in rural areas and mentioned teleworking among other aspects aimed at improving Japan’s place among advanced economies in terms of digital standards. The digital strategy promotes teleworking, especially in small and medium-sized enterprises, and particularly emphasizes equal work opportunities for people in urban and rural areas. As access to reliable high-speed internet is expected to increase in rural areas and Japanese companies are increasingly encouraged to offer remote work to their employees, regions affected by depopulation and economic hardship could be given a chance to revitalize. Local governments, which have begun to encourage rural migration by offering free housing or other benefits to immigrants from urban areas, could in future offer courses in IT-related skills or provide free internet or shared office space geared towards remote working to turn their cities into “smart cities”, a concept that has already achieved some success in Southeast Asia. Remote work also appeals more strongly to a younger, more technically adapt generation and thus offers the possibility of creating migration of skilled workers in their 20s and 30s, a group which is heavily needed in the aging and depopulating rural regions of Japan. (McKinsey and Company 2021). Digitalization and remote work could therefore be a big aspect of the future revitalization efforts of Japan’s rural areas and might play an increasing role in the coming years.

References:

Wakayama Life (n. d.), “Mainichi miru keishiki ga kirei,” https://www.wakayamagurashi.jp/totteoki_life/03/ [access July 20, 2024]

McKinsey and Company (2021), Japan Digital Agenda 2030, https:/www.digitaljapan2030.com/ [access July 12, 2024]

Christoph Barann is a student in the BA program in Japanese Studies at the Freie Universität Berlin.

Guest Contribution: Rural vitalization in Japan: When creativity overcomes political actionism

by Dominik Roth

Rural revitalization is a hot topic in modern societies. With declining birth rates, many developed countries are seeing their rural areas deteriorate in both population and infrastructure. While this problem is prevalent in many places, Japan is somewhat unique: Nowhere else is the problem of rural abandonment more apparent. In Japan, rural communities try to launch projects to bring life and people back to decaying towns and villages far from urban centres like Tokyo and Osaka. Many of these projects are focused on finding that one special feature, product, or other thing that will make the place stand out and attract new people.

Rural areas in Japan are characterized by empty plots of land (akichi) …
Copyright © Cornelia Reiher 2022

Many of these projects and marketing efforts seem lackluster, superficial, and often end up being nothing more than pure actionism by politicians and bureaucrats. “We are the city of ceramics” or “We are the city of ink” are just a few examples of communities trying to put their hometown back on the map by choosing a label to put on it. I find it hard to believe that the attractiveness of a place can be planned at a board meeting. Japan’s rural decline won’t be solved by simple marketing campaigns. There are bigger problems at work that need to be solved in order to actually contribute to population growth and the return of people to rural areas. The lack of gender equality, extreme working conditions, low pay and many other issues should be addressed first.

… and abandoned houses (akiya).
Copyright © Cornelia Reiher 2022

And while I personally don’t believe that public marketing campaigns will solve the problem, I do appreciate that efforts are being made, especially when they are creative and different. One of these efforts is the “Emotional Bridge Project” in Gifu, realized through the hands of a single person. This person is Ogawa Ryo, better known by his artist moniker “RoamCouch”. Born in Anpachi-cho, Ryo started drawing and painting at an early age, mainly influenced by his love for manga. After graduating from high school, he started working for an advertising company, but he was dissatisfied with the job and the outlook on his life, and eventually suffered a physical breakdown. He became seriously ill and was unable to move for weeks, and with enough time to rethink what kind of life he really wanted to live, he finally decided to pursue a career as a painter (Roamcoach 2024).

Art can play an important role in rural revitalization through exhibitions, workshops or street art. This is a picture of an exhibition in a rural town in Ōita prefecture.
Copyright © Cornelia Reiher 2022

Ogawa’s “Emotional Bridge Project” has been in existence since 2014, and aims to revitalize the local community of Anpachi-chō by painting murals on local buildings and structures. Although at one point he considered moving abroad, Mr. Ogawa decided to return to his hometown in Gifu to give back. Inspired by street art revitalization projects around the world, Ogawa spoke directly with the owners of various spaces and facades to create murals for free, eventually resulting in 14 works of art in Anpachi-chō. He uses stencils for his artwork, which he cuts out by hand. However, Ogawa’s style is unique because he also incorporates elements of ukiyo-e into his works, creating a blend of the ancient and the modern. His stencil art requires the utmost concentration, as the slightest mistake in the spraying and cutting process means he has to start the project all over again. According to Ogawa, his works have no message, as he simply wants viewers to enjoy his works and feel joy, which is why he often makes them easy to understand without any subliminal meaning. The project has caught the attention of locals. In an interview, Ogawa mentions how an elderly gentleman recognized him while he was spraying, and he even collected clippings of Ogawa’s work. Students often photograph the murals, and more and more people are inquiring about future locations for his murals, indicating a growing interest in his work. Ogawa sees the Emotional Bridge Project as a catalyst for tourism and a source of inspiration for the realization of dreams. Ogawa strives to convey a calm and mysterious view of the world. His murals, characterized by their beauty and sense of mysticism, contribute to the unique atmosphere of Anpachi-chō. Ogawa hopes to expand the project and convey the message that perseverance can make many dreams come true.

Will the “Emotional Bridge Project” solve problems such as rural exodus and population decline in Anpachi-chō? Probably not. I don’t think this is something that one man’s project can do. It does, however, show how one person’s efforts can impact a rural area, if only by inviting art fans on a bike ride to see all the murals. It’s a small step, but solving any big problem has to start somewhere.

References:

Jet-Black Gallery (2019), “Emotional Bridge Project】 RoamCouch ‘Take My Heart’, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JFwUb3OR4fA (June 17, 2024).

Roamcoach (2024), “About”, http://roamcouch.com/about/ (June 17, 2024).

Dominik Roth is a student in the BA program in Japanese Studies at the Freie Universität Berlin

Guest Contribution: Micronations in rural Japan: From parody to “national pride”

by Kenny Stößel

In the 1980s, the book “Kirikirijin” by Hisashi Inoue was published in Japan. At that time, no one could have known the impact that this book would have on the entire island nation. “Kirikirijin” is about a village in northeastern Japan that went head-to-head with the Japanese government. Due to their dissatisfaction with the policies of the central government, the village decided to declare their independence and form a micronation called “Kirikirikuni”. The central government tried everything to stop the newly formed nation, with little to no success. Technical and medical advancements and procedures forbidden in Japan were made possible in Kirikirikuni, giving them leverage and support.

The Republic of Alcohol was located in Sado in Niigata Prefecture
Copyright © Siraj Shahjahan 2024 Unsplash https://unsplash.com/de/s/fotos/insel-sado

The book became a huge success. All over the country, about 200 towns and villages decided to declare independence as a micronation, to the extent that it was called a boom in Japan. It has to be said that this was mostly for parody reasons and not to follow in the footsteps of the book, but the efforts made were more authentic than one might have expected. For example, one of these nations was the Republic of Alcohol. Founded in the former town of Mano, now known as Sado City in Niigata Prefecture, the Republic specialized in brewing alcohol, as one might expect. The micronation quickly gained nationwide recognition and was a major factor in the popularity of micronations and the connection between them as part of the United Nations, a group of mini-independent countries throughout Japan.

Niko Niko Republic had its own institutions and currency (pictures from Turns 51)
Copyright © Cornelia Reiher 2024

Another city that “declared independence” was the city of Nihonmatsu in Fukushima Prefecture, which formed the micronation “Niko Niko Republic”. It hosted various events, established its own House of Representatives, and stamped the passports of visitors. Even now, 40 years later, the memory of the republic is still close to the hearts of its residents. At first, the declaration of independence was only for marketing purposes, to promote the town’s onsen and give it a more unique character compared to the onsen of the neighboring village. This declaration of independence gave the republic great exposure and publicity. In addition, and due to a lack of money, the existing shops were given new signs declaring them as official ministries, giving the main street the feel of a theme park. They also invented a national anthem, a constitution, and even their own passports and currency. Slowly a national pride developed, students leaving for university were celebrated as exchange students and even greeted with parades when they completed their “exchange” (Watabe 2022).

From the archives of Niko Niko Republic (pictures from Turns 51)
Copyright © Cornelia Reiher 2024

In 2006, nearly two decades after its founding, the Republic was dissolved. This was due to an aging population and the lack of success of the onsen and the Republic itself, which led to the closure of businesses in the Republic and the micronation’s inability to support itself. Despite this, the republic is still remembered by its citizens, and many memorabilia such as signs, flags, and the self-created currency can be found all over the city. In 2021, 15 years after the Republic’s end, the town converted an old souvenir shop into the official Museum of the Republic of Niko Niko to offer the opportunity to relive and experience the events and charm of that time. Another reason for the new museum is the hope to raise awareness of the once cherished republic and to revive it. It can be said that even though the Republic has almost no online presence, it has achieved its goal of raising awareness, as people who attended Republic events as a child are beginning to get involved as organizers of new events, and even people younger than the Republic itself are advocating for the independent of Niko Niko Republic today. Despite these efforts, those involved in the revitalization efforts know that the Republic will never be the same. The goal is to rebuild the Republic in the old way, and then to create a newer and better place. Another goal of the revival of Niko Niko Republic is to provide inspiration for the younger generation, because the future of the town rests on their shoulders. (Watabe 2022).

The declaration of independence from Japan and the traction the town received from this action generated great revenue. Beginning with an attempt to make their onsen unique, a strong sense of “national pride” has developed through several generations and is contagious even to the new generations and young people long for a nation they barely know. With a successful revival of Niko Niko Republic, the town would be able to offer a unique form of rural tourism. This might help to counteract depopulation and economic decline in the area.

Reference:

Watabe, Akiko (2022), “Fukushima-ken Nihonmatsu: NikoNiko Kyōwakoku,” Turns 51: 64–69.

Kenny Stößel is a student in the BA program in Japanese Studies at the Freie Universität Berlin.

Guest Contribution: New life on a small island: A personal history of an urban-rural migrant on Okinawa

by Jasper Domanowski

Rural outmigration is a perennial issue in Japan as the rural population ages and young people move to the cities. To combat this, both the Japanese central government and local governments are promoting projects to attract urban dwellers to move to rural areas and help ‘revitalize the countryside’. Previous studies on ijūsha (urban-rural migrants) have covered a variety of strategies and incentives used to promote this goal. A previous post on this blog, “Japan’s transnational countryside” by Cornelia Reiher, points out that there are certain experiences that many people who choose to leave the city for a rural life have in common, such as having experienced life and cultures outside of Japan. These experiences may contribute to the ijūsha‘s decision to move to the countryside, whether in the hope of contributing to the revitalization of rural areas or to escape the rigid structures of Japanese society. I would like to offer another example to show the relevance of the mobility of urban-rural migrants in Japan.

My host family took me to this clear blue ocean behind a rocky outcrop by car to show me the “hidden spots”.
Copyright © Jasper Domanowski 2023

In 2023 I spent ten months in Japan on a working holiday. After three months of teaching in the middle of Tokyo, I was longing to get out of the city for a while. In June 2023, my search for a rural host family led me to one of Okinawa’s southern islands, where I stayed with a lovely couple and their pre-school son for two and a half weeks. My host family ran a small izakaya and inn, one of only a handful on the entire island, and every evening the designated rooms filled with customers who greeted them like old friends. During the day, local parents sometimes stopped by to drop off friends of my host family’s son, and stayed for a while to chat while the kids played in the yard. The main waitress was Ami, a young woman my age who had left her unfulfilling job and failing relationship in Tokyo to work full-time at the izakaya for a year to find herself and figure out what she wanted in life. She said she wanted to travel to Australia after that, but could see herself settling down on the island in a few years’ time.

The island mascot is a goat named “Koko.” Local residents take turns going on walks with Koko.
Copyright © Jasper Domanowski 2023

The story of my host mother, Yumiko, is somewhat typical of that of an ijūsha: She told me that she was born and raised in Saitama in a typical Japanese family, with her parents working in Tokyo. She had spent a year abroad in Canada (making her the only fluent English speaker around), although she returned to Saitama for university. There she made friends with a girl from Okinawa and was invited to spend the next school holidays there. She told me that she immediately fell in love with the island. It became her favourite place to go on holiday, and after that first visit she returned whenever she could. It was on one of these visits that she met her future husband through mutual friends. They kept in touch after the holiday, made easier by the fact that he also lived in Saitama, not far from her home. While they were dating, they visited the island together many times, and with each visit, the feeling they both shared grew stronger: they wanted to leave the city and live on the island permanently. Neither was happy with the standardised life they were ‘supposed’ to lead as Japanese citizens, especially Yumiko, who had experienced such a different way of life during her time abroad. This was compounded by the fact that they already did not fit the mould: they had married “too late” and had no children (yet). So they started saving money and preparing for their big move. The island is small, and thanks to their frequent visits – often several times a year – they had made connections with locals who were happy to help them organise and settle in.

View of the main beach from the pier.
Copyright © Jasper Domanowski 2023

Despite this help, it was difficult at first. The buildings on the land they bought needed serious work to make them not only habitable but also weatherproof. Building materials were scarce on the island and had to be brought in by ferry. They did most of the work themselves, with the help and guidance of a few local men who had decades of experience building and repairing houses on the island. Yumiko’s husband often had to travel back to Tokyo for extended periods of time to work in his office, and could not give up his job while their new home was still unfinished. But the hardship was worth it, she told me. They opened the izakaya and inn as they had hoped, allowing her husband to leave his office job in Tokyo for good. In 2018, they had their son, born in the hospital across the island and raised on the island with half a dozen other children.

The street and parking lot in front of the main beach on the island. My host mother gave me and Ami an early break specifically so we could watch the sunset.
Copyright © Jasper Domanowski 2023

Nowadays, Yumiko still keeps the connection to life outside Japan alive, by allowing people like me – those hoping to experience Japan outside of Tokyo and away from tourist spots – to live with their family for a few weeks. Even without travelling abroad, the entire family is in frequent exchange with diverse and international perspectives. Yumiko greatly valued how her time spent away from Japan had given her a new perspective on life. She hopes that the contact to foreigners like me will inspire a similar mindset in her son – to allow him to choose the direction of his life freely, less restricted by societal expectations. While of course merely anecdotal evidence, I believe Yumiko’s story greatly speaks for the importance of a person’s history of mobility when it comes to ijūsha’s and their motivations for moving to the countryside.

Jasper Domanowski  is a student in the BA program in Japanese Studies at the Freie Universität Berlin.

Sustainability and Sharing in the Lives of Urban Migrants in Rural Japan

by Cecilia Luzi

In rural Japan, life often revolves around exchange, reciprocity, and community support. These values profoundly influence the way people live and interact, especially among urban-rural migrants. This blog post explores how these values are manifested through a seemingly ordinary object-a used television found in the home of one of my research participants in Buzen. By examining the history of this TV, I uncover how such objects symbolize broader patterns of reciprocity and sustainability among urban-rural migrants.

The broken TV in the living room.
Copyright © Cecilia Luzi 2022

Hitomi, 43, originally from Kitakyūshū, moved to Buzen five years ago, shortly after the birth of her third daughter. After living in China, New Zealand, Singapore, the UK and Colombia, she now works as a translator, specializing in Chinese and English. Her family includes her Colombian husband and three daughters. She moved to live with her parents to help care for her grandmother, who suffered from dementia. This move also provided much needed support for her daughters while her husband remained in Colombia. Hitomi’s life is deeply rooted in the values of sharing and helping others, which is vividly illustrated by an object in her home. On my first visit to her home, I noticed a large, 60-inch flat-screen TV in the corner of the living area that doubles as the kitchen and family room. “That’s a big TV!” I said, and Hitomi replied, “Yeah, but it’s broken!” A friend had given her the TV when she moved into her rental house. “I still have to find the time and money to get it fixed,” Hitomi said. When I visited again a few months later, I saw that the room had been rearranged, with the TV now placed in front of the sofa. “Oh, so you finally fixed it!” I exclaimed. Hitomi laughed and said, “No, not yet. She explained that she didn’t want to throw it away because it was a gift from a friend and because “it’s a waste (mottainai); it could still be fixed!”

A market where secondhand items are sold.
Copyright © Cecilia Luzi 2022

Exchange, reciprocity, mutual support and sharing are at the heart of Hitomi’s life. Hitomi connects effortlessly with people from all walks of life. Her life is a rich tapestry of relationships, and her genuine curiosity about others drives her to offer support and empathy whenever needed. I saw this in action when she helped a new JET participant from the UK find an apartment, shared details about a friend’s pastry class, and even took her daughter’s friend home from school for weeks at a time to help her mother, who had just given birth. “I’ve traveled and lived alone in many places,” Hitomi told me, “and if it weren’t for the help I received from so many people, I wouldn’t be where I am today. Helping you and others is my way of giving back some of that support to the universe.” In this context, the broken TV in Hitomi’s house has a special significance. It’s more than just a piece of furniture; it symbolizes her gratitude to the people in her life and reflects her commitment to a life rooted in interconnectedness and reciprocity. When Hitomi and her three daughters had just moved into their new home, the television was an unexpected and much appreciated gift. Given the expense of moving and settling into a new place, buying a TV wasn’t on her radar. It now sits prominently in her living room, a constant reminder of Hitomi’s social relationships built on sharing and mutual support.

Our kids playing outside
Copyright © Cecilia Luzi 2022

During my visits, I noticed that Hitomi had moved the television from one place to another while she waited for it to be repaired. This in-between state, in which the TV no longer works but still has meaning, is a symbol of Hitomi’s commitment to a life centered on support, community, and sustainability, similar to many other migrants I met. The secondhand TV also underscores a more general trend that I observed among many people during my fieldwork. Urban migrants often rely on second-hand items, such as furniture and tools, and live a lifestyle focused on reuse and sustainability. This practice is also consistent with a deeper commitment to environmental awareness. Hitomi’s living room, a mix of old and new furniture, including the TV, sofa bed and dining table – all gifts from friends – exemplifies this trend. In this context, where secondhand items are both a necessity and a choice, these objects represent more than just sustainability. These objects, whether brought in from the city or purchased new, embody the relationships and exchanges between their former and new owners, forming a mosaic of objects and social relations, each with its own story.

Guest Contribution: “Giving 80%” to renovate Kawagoe

by Stephan Bogedain

The number of vacant houses in Japan has been increasing nationwide due to a declining population caused by low birth rates. These vacant houses are called akiya and have many negative effects on the living environment of the area and the population living in the neighborhood. They also have an impact on the local economy, as they lead to a decrease in land prices and tax revenues. Many of the vacant houses are not sold because Japanese people prefer not to buy used houses. In addition, many of them are also used as storage space, second homes, or are awaiting renovation (Platz 2024: 43-44).

Located in Saitama Prefecture, Kawagoe is a city bustling with tourists who venture through the alleys to experience the traditional houses reminiscent of Japan’s Edo period. As many as seven million tourists visit Kawagoe each year to experience its unique and beautiful cityscape. However, the majority of these tourists only stay for the day and leave in the evening. The city has been experiencing steady population growth since the 1990s, but it is not free of the problems that akiya (City Population 2022) present. Due to the city’s massive success as a tourist attraction, rents are rising, and as a result, small private businesses are struggling to find a foothold in the area. This leads to these businesses being pushed out of Kawagoe and new ones being unable to open in the city, which negatively affects the residential areas (Seki 2022: 81). Since the main street sees a lot of visitors, it flourishes and is full of souvenir shops. The side streets, on the other hand, are deserted and the shopkeepers there are forced to give up their businesses.

To address these issues, the city has formulated a plan to combat the increase in vacant properties. This includes raising awareness among citizens. The city also states that the owners of the houses are responsible for the proper management of the houses. However, the city will assist the owners if needed. The plan advocates the effective use of the empty spaces as community spaces in an attempt to revitalize the region. The focus of the revitalization is on areas with many elderly residents and vacant houses (Kawagoe City 2018a). According to a study carried out by the local government, the areas with the most vacant houses also have the highest proportion of elderly people over the age of 65 (Kawagoe City 2016: 75). While the city is generally experiencing population growth, it still faces the same problem of an increase in akiya due to an aging population. As part of the counter-measures, the city has started to collect data on vacant houses that their owners want to sell and is collecting them in a so-called vacant house bank (akiya banku). This makes it easy for individuals and organizations interested in buying a house to find and contact the owners (Kawagoe City 2023).

The city has also set up a school to teach how to renovate old vacant houses. Among the participants in this school is a group of people who have formed a company called “80%”. The company’s activities focus on repairing and renovating empty houses so that they can be reused for new businesses, such as coworking spaces and guesthouses, allowing 80% to make a profit by renting out the newly created spaces. The company renovates about one house per year. An example is the renovation of an old tenement that is now a rentable coworking space and café. The city’s 350,000 residents live alongside the many tourists who visit Kawagoe. The renovation projects serve as a way to make the city more livable by creating more businesses primarily for locals, which in turn can attract more tourists, while creating spaces where both worlds can meet and mix (Seki 2022). Their coworking spaces are advertised as having a cozy atmosphere and they offer their services 24 hours a day, 365 days a year (80 %). The company does not receive financial support from the local government for its projects, as it is a for-profit business. However, the city provides soft support to the group by arranging meetings and mediating between them and previous homeowners. Although the members of 80% are aware that they are doing a lot of work for the city, they also value having fun while renovating houses and want to make the city a place that reflects these values. Their sentiment is reflected in the name 80%, which means “creating a better day without working too hard” (Seki 2022: 83).

References:

80% (2024), “Kowākingu” [Coworking], https://80per.net/coworking/ (17.06.2024).

City Population (2022), ,,JAPAN: Saitama”, https://www.citypopulation.de/en/japan/saitama/ (17.06.2024).

Kawagoe City (2016), “Kawagoeshi akiya nado jittaichōsa hōkokusho” [Kawagoe vacant houses survey report], https://www.city.kawagoe.saitama.jp/kurashi/jutaku/akiyataisaku/jittaihoukokusyo.files/h28_jittaityousahoukokusyo.pdf (17.06.2024).

Kawagoe City (2018a), “Kawagoeshi akiya nado taisakukeikaku wo sakutei” [Formulated plan to deal with vacant houses in Kawagoe], https://www.city.kawagoe.saitama.jp/kurashi/jutaku/akiyataisaku/akiyakeikaku.html (17.06.2024).

Kawagoe City (2023), ,”Akiya banku” [Vacant house bank], https://www.city.kawagoe.saitama.jp/smph/kurashi/jutaku/akiyataisaku/bank-hp2.html (17.06.2024).

Platz, Annemone (2024), “From social issue to art site and beyond – reassessing rural akiya kominkan,” Contemporary Japan 36, 1: 41-56. 43-44.

Seki, Kōya (2022), “Kankōbaburu no ato no kawagoe o omou.” [Thinking of Kawagoe after the tourism bubble], in: TURNS, April (51): 78-83.

Stephan Bogedain is a student in the BA program in Japanese Studies at Freie Universität Berlin.

Guest Contribution: The spiritual sustainability of tourism in Koyasan

by Anton Hinz

Koyasan is a small town in Wakayama Prefecture with a population of about 3000. What makes it special is that the town consists of 117 temples and a third of the population are Buddhist monks.  Koyasan is the home of Shingon Esoteric Buddhism and was founded in 816 by the monk Kūkai (774-835), who is also the founder of this branch of Buddhism. Koyasan has been a UNESCO World Heritage Site since 2004. It is located on a mountain peak of about 800 meters. According to mythology, the location of Koyasan was chosen because the surrounding mountain peaks resemble the shape of a lotus flower. The visitwakayama website  describes Koyasan as “one of Japan’s most sacred sites” that has been visited by “emperors, feudal lords, aristocrats, politicians, acolytes and ordinary citizens”. These “ordinary citizens” have grown to a steady number of about 1.4 million foreign and Japanese visitors per year, or nearly 4,000 visitors per day – outnumbering the local population. Considering that many visitors stay for one or more nights, the number of visitors can even exceed 10,000 on any given day.

The temple grounds look beautiful, but are rarely deserted as in this picture.
Copyright © Pixabay 2022

Almost 6 years ago, I was fortunate enough to work at one of the temples that offer authentic temple lodging (shukubō). During my time there, I spent many contemplative hours wandering the temple grounds before sunrise or after sunset, when guests were busy having their traditional breakfast or dinner (shōjin ryōri). Despite how beautiful and spiritual the city still is, I could not help but wonder if the large crowds standing in line, taking pictures, or talking loudly were somewhat at odds with the religious significance and spirituality of Koyasan. Silvia Aulet and Tomasz Duda (2020) have introduced the concept of spiritual sustainability. While sustainability is usually considered from an economic, environmental or socio-cultural perspective, in the case of sacred sites spiritual sustainability is defined as the preservation of the spirit of a place, its original use, and the sacredness of the site (Aulet & Duda, 2020, p. 5). But in addition to spiritual sustainability the economic, environmental, and socio-cultural sustainability of sacred sites remain important as well.

Koyasan’s temples attract about 1.4 million visitors a year
Copyright © Pixabay 2019 

What does it mean for a sacred site to be spiritually unsustainable? Desecration and dispossession of a site can occur when visitors behave disrespectfully or when the site becomes “over-commercialized and its sacredness can no longer be perceived” (Aulet & Duda, 2020, p. 5). Another way this can happen is when “locals are unable to perform rituals at sacred sites, or even when sacred objects are decontextualized” (ibid, p. 5). In the case of Koyasan, one could argue that monks are inhibited in performing rituals by their new role as tour guides or perceived tourist attractions, and that the presence of recording devices or a noisy visitor distracts from the austere morning ceremonies. I have found that guiding visitors through Koyasan as a cultural heritage site and the teachings of Shingon Esoteric Buddhism is not a hindrance to their rituals and monastic duties, but a modern extension of them. Nevertheless, the disruption of the austere atmosphere by the sheer number of visitors, many of whom take pictures and few of whom adhere to spoken or unspoken guidelines, seems to contribute to a degree of spiritual unsustainability.

Koyasan was, and in some cases still is, a beloved destination for pilgrims. Modern accessibility has affected not only the perception of the site, but also the use of some of its features. In order to make the site more accessible to visitors, it was equipped with a cable car that carries passengers several hundred meters up the mountain, connected to a long, sloping train line that comes from Kyoto and passes through many smaller stations. In addition, a winding, well-constructed road was built into the mountainside for easy access by car. While they can still be seen in their towering beauty, most of Koyasan’s historic large wooden gates have been stripped of their function as welcoming signs for a weary traveler who has been walking for several days to reach Koyasan. To combat overtourism and maintain Koyasan’s spiritual sustainability, an article in the Asahi Shimbun of March 2, 2024 suggests that the mayor of Koyasan consider taxing visitors to Koyasan to reinvest the money in the maintenance and repair of public facilities and roads. Similar concepts are being implemented in other tourist hotspots in Japan, such as Myajima Island, as well as in European cities such as Venice.

Despite the large number of tourists, monks in Koyasan are not necessarily prevented from performing rituals
Copyright © Pixabay 2023

On the other hand, the presence and behavior of tourists need not negatively affect a site and its spiritual sustainability. Kaori Yanata (2021, p. 5) argues that tourism is a kind of “secular substitute for organized religion”. The free time that tourists take for themselves serves as spirituality per se, because it can provide “a space for the contemplative and the creative, a unity of thought and action.” In this way, Shingon Esoteric Buddhism, which reaches approximately 1.4 million people per year, and up to 10,000 daily visitors who experience the spirituality of an ancient site, could further fuel the spiritual current of Koyasan. A full analysis of the impact of tourism on Koyasan is yet to be conducted, but for now, Koyasan is a shining fortress of spirituality and religiosity, and it seems likely to remain so for the foreseeable future.

References:

Aulet, S. & Duda, T. (2020), “Tourism Accessibility and Its Impact on the Spiritual Sustainability of Sacred Sites,” Sustainability 12, doi:10.3390/su12229695.

Ohno, H. (2024), “Mount Koyasan town eyes charging visitors with special tax,” The Asahi Shimbun, https://www.asahi.com/ajw/articles/15185726#:~:text=In%202023%2C%20the%20World%20Heritage,and%2030%2C000%20visitors%20every%20day

The Official Wakayama Travel Guide (2024). Koyasan Area: Majestic Temples and Rich Nature.  https://visitwakayama.jp/en/stories/koyasan#78

Anton Hinz is a student in the BA program in Japanese Studies at the Freie Universität Berlin.

Guest Contribution: “A treasure chest for exploration”: Transnational migration to rural Tokushima

by Gina Bresch

In 2019, after finishing school, I decided to go to Japan for a few months to do voluntary service. I ended up in Tokushima City, the capital of the prefecture of the same name on the smallest of Japan’s four main islands, Shikoku. While many of my fellow volunteers, who came through the same agency, were the only ones at their placement, I was lucky enough to become part of a large team of volunteers who worked, ate and lived together. For three months I was part of the NPO “Bizan Daigaku” where I did a lot of hard but rewarding work. 

The so-called “Hana-Road” is one of Bizan Daigaku’s projects to beautify the city
Copyright © Gina Bresch 2019

One of the people I met during that time was a former volunteer who worked at one of the nurseries we sometimes worked at; a Russian woman named Zhanna. After her volunteer work ended, she had traveled a lot in the Tokushima area and liked the tranquility of it more than the big cities in Japan, so she decided to stay. I didn’t see her very often while I was working in Tokushima, but I learned that she had later secured a position as an English teacher. Even after Zhanna left the volunteer program, she remained close to the close-knit community of the Bizan Daigaku organization. We saw each other from time to time, and I was very impressed with her Japanese language skills and admired how she lived in Tokushima, away from her family, and found her own way. I hoped that one day I would be able to come to Japan for a permanent stay like she had.

When I returned to Japan in late 2022, I met Zhanna and found out that she had moved to Kaiyō, a small town on the south coast of Tokushima. She seemed very busy with her work. She told us about her work and what made her move to remote Kaiyō. After living in Tokushima City for a while, Zhanna had begun traveling to Kaiyō on weekends. She saw it as an escape from her busy work life in the city and began to wonder what it would be like to live in this place, which she came to appreciate more and more. At the same time, Zhanna had started taking surfing lessons in Tokushima City, and since Kaiyō is known to have the biggest waves in the prefecture, she thought it would help her improve her surfing skills if she moved there. When I talked to her, she even called it “Surfers’ Mekka.

Photo of Kaiyō on the official Instagram page of the South Tokushima Region Promotion Team
Copyright © Zhanna V. 2022 and 2023

Zhanna lives in Kaiyō, but works in a town called Minami, which is 40 minutes away by car. She works in the Regional Revitalization Division of the Tokushima Southern Prefectural Office, which includes Kaiyō City, Minami City, Anan City, and others. Of these, I was only familiar with Anan City because one of the nurseries where I volunteered was located there. As you might expect, these are very remote areas that are struggling with depopulation. Zhanna is responsible for the English versions of the prefectures’ social media sites, as well as photographing “the best views and local traditions,” all with the goal of revitalizing the region. Through her work, she hopes to help promote some of the region’s specialties and its appeal to attract more (foreign) tourists to visit the southern, rural part of Tokushima Prefecture. It also involves a lot of translating and interpreting Japanese promotional material into English, such as brochures. Finally, her SNS work consists of appearing on the prefectural government’s YouTube channel, showcasing various places and activities in the area.

Photos of Kaiyō on the official Instagram page of the South Tokushima Region Promotion Team
Copyright © Zhanna V. 2022 and 2023

On the other hand, she participates in tourism fairs and conventions and speaks at the annual “Silver Daigakko” event, which is designed to help recruit new volunteer guides in Tokushima City. Her presence as a foreigner helps the cause of revitalization by adding another perspective to these rural areas that can be attractive to both Japanese and foreign visitors. Zhanna calls Tokushima a “treasure chest for exploration” and would like to share this place with many people so that they can experience a different side of Japan. As for her hopes for the future, she hopes that the infrastructure of southern Tokushima will be developed and that her work will help the area become more popular to attract new tourists. That way, the money they earn from tourism could help local people improve their lives and live more comfortably. In particular, she wants to promote the various unique festivals that take place between August and November, such as the Anan Danjiri Kenka Matsuri. I wish her and her work all the best for the future and hope to see her soon, perhaps when visiting Kaiyō myself.

Gina Bresch is a student in the BA program in Japanese Studies at the Freie Universität Berlin.

Studying rural Japan with students in Berlin

by Cornelia Reiher

Rural Japan is not only an interesting field of research, but also an attractive topic for teaching Japanese Studies. In the summer of 2024, I taught a course on recent social, cultural and political dynamics in Japan’s rural areas to students of the BA program in Japanese Studies at Freie Universität Berlin. In this course, we talked about cultural aspects of local crafts and arts and discovered several interesting initiatives to attract artists to rural Japan, realize art projects together with locals, and promote tourism through traditional crafts. Other course topics included the mobility of people as tourists, urban-rural migrants and transnational migrants and their experiences in rural Japan. We discussed differences and similarities in the lives of Japanese and foreign newcomers to the countryside and attempted to define tourism, migration and kankei jinkō through the perspectives of weblogs and social media accounts of tourists and migrants. Finally, we talked about rural revitalization policies, agriculture and municipal mergers, and followed policy developments at various levels of government to better understand central-local relations in Japan.

Course participants 2024
Copyright © Cornelia Reiher 2024

Not only did the students read secondary literature and analyze a variety of primary sources such as videos, websites, white papers, blogs, and social media accounts, but I also asked them to write a post for this blog on a topic they found interesting. In order to get to know the blog and the different topics and perspectives that blog authors have contributed to this blog on urban-rural migration and rural revitalization, I asked them to present three blog posts to the group. As a next step, they drafted their own posts based on the primary sources we analyzed in class or based on their own experiences in rural Japan. Over the next few weeks, we will share their posts on topics as diverse as remote work, foreign residents in rural Japan, art projects in the countryside, spiritual tourism, renovation of abandoned houses, and migration stories to Okinawa.

Rural landscape in Kyushu
Copyright © Cornelia Reiher 2022

Since I invited students to contribute to this blog last year, this year’s students were very impressed when they read their peers’ posts. This inspired and motivated them to write their own posts. By incorporating student contributions into this blog, it has become both a resource and a method for teaching about rural Japan. I hope you will enjoy our students’ new posts!

Guest Contribution: Preserving her homeland: Yamazato Setuko’s life and peace activism in Okinawa

by Nakako Hattori-Ishimaru

Ishigaki-shi, Japan’s southernmost city with a population of about 50,000 people, is located on Ishigaki-jima. The semi-tropical Yaeyama islands, the main island of Okinawa, Tokyo and other areas are connected by this transportation hub, which has attracted tourists and migrants. On the location of a former golf grounds, conservative city mayor Nakayama Yoshitaka claimed in 2016 that he had reached an agreement with the Ministry of Defense to build a new camp for the Japan Ground Self-Defense Force (JGSDF). Ever since, Yamazato Setsuko (born in 1937), a native of the island, has been leading the weekly standing protests against the military facility development. For the members’ average age of 74, the group is named the Ishigaki Grannies’ Society to Protect Life and Livelihood (Ishigaki no kurashi to inochi o mamoru obā tachi no kai). As the name suggests, Yamazato san’s actions go beyond just opposing the establishment of a military base. Years of continuous public protests can be time- and energy- consuming, and even sour relations within small communities. But why does Yamazato san feel the need to engage in peace activism so strongly?

A serene evening at Kabira Bay, Ishigaki Island
Copyright© Nakako Hattori-Ishimaru 2023

I first learned about Yamazato san through a YouTube video that showed her and her fellow protesters chanting in Ishigaki Port in March 2023. They were protesting against the missiles that had been brought to and installed at the recently constructed Ishigaki Camp without the locals permission. In the following year, the documentary film director, Mikami Chie, published the film Ikusa-fumu (The War Clouds), which illustrates how the state-driven fortification efforts since the mid-2010s had gradually and dramatically altered rural societies and landscapes of the southwestern areas of Okinawa, including Ishigaki. Prominent locals are shown in this film, including Yamazato san, who is crucial to native narratives. During my first fieldwork in Okinawa in 2023, I had the opportunity to meet Yamazato san at her home. During a follow-up visit, I attended the documentary film’s premiere screening in Naha. The screening was followed by a talk with the director, where Yamazato san made an appearance as a speaker. Her journey as an activist demonstrates a deep commitment to her native island which runs through her professional endeavors and her personal worldview.

The motivation for Yamazato san’s lifelong commitment to protect island life has been a deep sense of regret. She is from a farming family and after the Pacific War on Ishigaki-jima in 1945, she and her grandmother were the only two survivors of their eight-person family. The years during the post-war American occupation were “another battlefield for survival” (interview with the author in September 2023). Nevertheless, in 1955, she was able to secure a respectable position with the U.S. Military Geology Survey (USGS) as a local field assistant. Leading the survey was female geologist Dr. Helen Foster, who recognized Yamazato san’s strength and appreciated her advice to safeguard the team from natural dangers. In return, the young Yamazato san gained valuable work experiences: She improved her English skills, learned how to collect data, took a jeep to all the creeks on the island and spent some time in Tokyo to finish the colored maps that were to be sent to Washington. Her interests, however, gradually turned towards reviving the traditional lifestyles she had learnt firsthand from her grandmother. These included farming, writing songs in regional ballad forms and recovering the customs of local silk weavers.

Yamazato san with the author
Copyright© Nakako Hattori-Ishimaru 2023

In the late 1970s, she was involved in an environmental movement to oppose a plan of new airport construction on the Shiraho Shore, which would have devastated the rich coral reef. While researching the project’s background, she was shocked to discover that the blueprint was based on the geological inquiry she was working on. “I still feel a strong deal of regret for what I did back then. Even though I was working for a salary, I was contributing to a process that would eventually result in the destruction of my native island” (interview with the author in September 2023). She then understood that any significant initiatives for external development on Ishigaki-jima are inevitably linked to military objectives. In 1989, the group appealed to the International Union for the Conservation of Nature (IUCN) to lobby the Japanese Government, whereupon construction of the airport was halted but moved to another location on the island. She considers this to be only a partial victory as their ultimate goal was to stop construction completely.

Yamazato san’s lifelong exposures to various foreign institutions gave her profound ideas for protecting her native land. When I asked her to define peace, her answer was clear: the ability to pass on her inherited way of lifestyle and livelihood to future generations. The quality of peace, she is seeking for, is to preserve her ancestral homeland as intact as possible. Developmentalism is often linked to state-led military buildup in order to counteract rural depopulation. On Ishigaki-shi’s 75th city anniversary, Mayor Nakayama proudly declared in July 2023 that the population had surpassed 50,000, citing the deployment of Camp Ishigaki in addition to general local economic revitalization as the primary drivers (Ryūkyū Shinpō 2023). Countering this dominant discourse of a military-driven economic boom, Yamazato san and her friends warned that the military bases have the potential to take away local autonomy once again. And Yamazato san is aware that many people on the island morally support her group’s protests despite the fact that they appear to be alone when they protest on the street.

References:

Haino, Akira (2022), “Tokushū otome-tachi no sensō 3: Setsu-chan oba no sensō (Special Series: The war of the maidens No.3: Setsuko grandma’s war),” Gekkan YAIMA 334, 6, pp.14-25.

Mikami, Chie (2024), “Ikusa-fumu: Yōsaika suru Okinawa, Shimajima no Kiroku (War clouds: The fortification of Okinawa and its records on the islands),” Tokyo: Shūeisha Shinsho.

Mikami, Chie (2024), “Ikusa-fumu(War Clounds) (Documentary Film)” 2024, https://ikusafumu.jp/ (retrieved on 3 July 2024).

Oaten, James, Lisa McGregor, and Yumi Asada (2003), “There is no end of war for us,“ ABC News, https://www.abc.net.au/news/2023-02-16/japan-ishigaki-military-base-remilitarisation-counter-china/101869542 (retrieved on 3 July 2024).

Ryūkyū Shinpō,  ”Ishigaki-shi no jinkō ga gomannin o toppa”(The Ishigaki City population has exceeded 50,000)” on 10 July 2023, https://ryukyushimpo.jp/news/entry-1744966.html, (retrieved on 9 July 2024).

Nakako Hattori Ishimaru (nakako.hattori2@fu-berlin.de) is a research assistant at the Institute of Japanese Studies at Freie Universität Berlin (FUB) and a doctoral candidate at the Graduate School of East Asian Studies (GEAS). Her main research interests include international cooperation, welfare states, security politics of Japan, war-peace narratives and collective identity formation.