By Cecilia Luzi

On 16th July 2020 at 9 am, I received an email from Professor Reiher, welcoming me to join the Japanese Studies department at FU Berlin as a research assistant on the project Urban-rural migration and rural revitalization in Kyūshū. A couple of hours later, a £8 Clear Blue test displayed the word “pregnant” on its digital screen.

Before that day, I would have never thought that pursuing a PhD and having children at the same time was even possible. Since I started a doctoral degree later than usual, I saw my friends going through 3, 4 years of doctoral formation. Most of them struggled with late night work, everyday anxiety and occasional frustration. I could not imagine how adding a crying baby to the equation would be a wise thing to do. However, I soon realized I was only seeing half of the picture. I was in need of other points of view, and so I asked for advice. To my surprise, those very same friends helped me realize that this could actually be a great time to have children. Your timetable is flexible; most of your work can be done at home in front of a computer; and you have at least 3 years of assured salary, which, sad truth, is among the longest period of stable job a researcher could aspire to today. Moreover, my contract as a research assistant provided me with a paid maternity leave. I will always remember what Prof Reiher told me when I announced her the news before signing the contract: “If we as researchers would wait a wise time to have kids, we would never have them!”.

So, the day of my 32nd birthday my partner and I moved to Berlin, 4 months pregnant and with an exciting job waiting for me at Freie Universität. I was enthusiastic about this new beginning, and everything was going very well with my pregnancy. Despite all of this, I will not deny, it has been a hard long semester. The loneliness imposed by Covid-19 second wave, the isolation that kept us away from our families even during Christmas time, and the long dark winter in Berlin was a lot to take. At work, I was very happy and excited to collaborate with my colleagues and supervisor but at times, I felt very nervous and anxious about the future. What I did not realize yet was that becoming a mother and starting a family would be a great opportunity for my PhD research.

How so? I only started to think about this recently because I have to find a new way of doing and organizing research. I now believe that being a mum makes me more indulgent toward myself and the people around me; it gives me a great dose of empathy which is very useful for an anthropologist heading to a long-time fieldwork; it opens new perspectives on my profession and helps me questioning my views on other people’s choices.

Right now, I focus on navigating through every single week as good as I can. Every morning I wake up not knowing what time I will be able to take my coffee, if my son’s naps will be long enough to send a couple of emails from home; and at what time I will be able to get to the office. I often think about how to organize the ethnographic part of my project with him, but also about the future in general. How will we manage to keep living in the same place with my partner, who is a researcher too, while our son is growing? Will I find the time to bring him to swimming classes and to write my thesis at the same time?

Once Japan will reopen its borders for foreign researchers, the three of us will leave for Kyūshū where I will start my fieldwork. Bringing family to the field is not new to social anthropologists^[1] in Japan^[2]. However, I am very anxious about having my family with me on what is supposed to be the most intense and introspective period of my research. At the same time, I believe research can and should be gentler, and we will find  new sources of inspiration for doing this job differently along the way.   

[1] Levey, H. (2009). “Which one is yours?”: Children and ethnography. Qualitative Sociology, 32(3), 311-331.

^[2] Allison, A. “Japanese mothers and obentōs: The lunch-box as ideological state apparatus.” Anthropological Quarterly (1991): 195-208.

By Tu Thanh Ngo (Frank Tu)

The consequences of declining birth rates and population ageing in rural Japan are significant. Accepting more foreign talents to rural areas has been one of the strategies that have been proposed in the Comprehensive Strategy for Communities, People and Work (Machi, hito, shigoto sōsei sōgō senryaku), the first holistic policy package for regional revitalization in Japan. More specifically, the national version of the Comprehensive Strategy directly puts forth that municipalities should accept foreign members to join the Chiiki okoshi kyōryokutai (Community building support staff program). In line with this strategy, earlier this year, Ngo Thi Nhung, a Vietnamese graduate from Kyūshū Sangyō University was accepted as the first foreign member of the Chiiki okoshi kyōryokutai in the city of Buzen. The acceptance of Nhung was widely reported by news outlets such as Asahi Shinbun and Nishi Nippon Shinbun [1]. 

Interested to find out what she does at work, I contacted her and got an opportunity to do an online interview with Nhung and the head of Buzen’s Sōgō seisakuka [Comprehensive planning department] on September 01, 2021. Nhung explained to me that she has been living in Japan for 8 years and deliberately chose to move to Buzen after finishing her master’s degree in Fukuoka City this year. Joining the Chiiki okoshi kyōryokutai, Nhung currently works as a coordinator for tabunka kyōsei (multiculturalism) for Buzen City. In particular, her tasks involve translating pamphlets, organizing cultural exchange events, disseminating information, and supporting foreigners who live in Buzen. Throughout the interview, Nhung repeatedly stated that she wants to connect foreigners and locals in Buzen, and this is also where she believes her role in rural revitalization lies.

Why is there a need to bring foreign and local residents closer together in a small rural city like Buzen? The head of Buzen’s Sōgō seisakuka explained that one of Buzen’s main strategies to counter its declining labor force is to attract international workers, who account for 1.5% of Buzen’s population. The majority of foreigners living in Buzen are young ginō jisshūsei (technical intern trainees), who are not yet used to the Japanese culture and have limited Japanese proficiency. For this reason, Buzen seeks to conduct activities to help foreigners integrate, i.e. by holding Japanese language courses, or explaining the rules for transportation and waste disposal to them. The head of Buzen’s Sōgō seisakuka also stated that he believes that young foreigners can play an important role in maintaining Buzen’s vitality, community life, events, and festivals. For this reason, he hopes that more foreigners will come to the city in the future. He also shared with me that Buzen had just recently concluded a partnership with the Taiwanese Consulate General to attract students from Taiwan, and that the city is currently exploring ways to proceed with the new partnership.

The interview with Ngo Thi Nhung and the head of Buzen’s Sōgō seisakuka, as well as the employment of Nhung as a publicly financed COKT member gave me the first impression that Buzen City has a positive view of foreigners’ role in rural revitalization. As for Nhung, she clearly asserted that she was motivated to contribute to Buzen’s revitalization efforts and had been receiving plenty of support from her colleagues. However, she also added that although she had not encountered any problems thus far, there might be challenges ahead. Hence, I really look forward to following up on her once we can go to Buzen for our upcoming fieldwork to see whether things will have changed by then.

[1]
Hamaguchi, T. (2021) ‘Buzen-shi kyōryokutai’in ni betonamujin josei “Dare mo ga tanoshiku kuraseru kankyō o”’, Nishi Nippon Shinbun. Available at: https://www.nishinippon.co.jp/item/n/741949/ (Accessed: 15 August 2021).

Ōra, M. (2021) ‘Buzen-shi, Chiiki okoshi Kyōryokutai ni betonamujin tabunka kyōsei ninau’, Asahi Shinbun. Available at: https://www.asahi.com/articles/ASP45736PP42TLLS001.html (Accessed: 15 August 2021).

By Josko Kozic

Hi there, my name is Josko. I live in Yokohama, and I am currently conducting research for a PhD thesis about contemporary Shugendo, a Japanese religious tradition focusing on mountain worship. I would like to give you some insights into my recent fieldwork in one of Japan’s least populated places: the Sanin region and Tottori in particular.

Tottori is famous for its vast sand dunes, beautiful emerald-green coasts and its huge Mt Daisen. The region also has an abundant agriculture with seafood and vegetables being the main products. Additionally, Tottori has several Sake breweries and indigo plantations used for traditional dyeing. Often, they are located in old and cozy post-station towns (shukuba machi). Apart from this, people in Tottori are proud of the prefecture’s deep and wide forests, mainly consisting of cedar, cypress and breech trees (buna). Hidden inside these forests, there are countless waterfalls with some of them ranked as Japan’s most beautiful.

Whenever I travel to the area, I like to make a stop at a michi no eki, government-designated rest areas including shops selling regional products. It was at one of these shops where I first stumbled upon pamphlets promoting rural life and agriculture in Tottori. After doing some research online, I found out that many communities have their own websites and offer online talks providing information on how to resettle and start a life there. I realized that the image and promotion of rural life through online and print media is changing and rural life has become a popular subject in recent times.

During my stay in Tottori in spring 2020, I approached the biggest agency directed at people considering relocation to the prefecture, providing them with advice and basic information. This agency called Furusato Tottori-ken teijū kikō is a public interest incorporated foundation (kōeki zaidanhōjin) and welcomed me at their bureau, kindly providing me with detailed data collected over the last few years about U- and I-turners who moved to Tottori prefecture in the past. They also gave me a ”Tottori Guidebook” with a vast overview of all towns and districts of the region, including interviews with new settlers and locals, promoting Tottori as the ”kingdom of child-rearing” (kosodate ōkoku). One of the staff members in charge told me that, while there was no remarkable impact on the numbers since the pandemic (interview held in January 2021), things still could be changing drastically soon.

I chose the charming mountain village of Chizu for further investigations, since the place aroused my interest for its self-promotion as an officially approved designation for ”forest therapy”. Chizu has a large number of lush, green forests and almost-abandoned settlements, such as the enchanted village of Itaibara the town proudly promotes as a ‘primeval landscape’ (genfūkei) in their pamphlets. At the municipal office of Chizu town, I had an appointment with a young member of the planning division who handed me several pamphlets and information about upcoming online events where topics like moving to, living and working in rural Japan were explained. I instantly connected and followed all the mentioned pages on social network platforms such as Instagram or Line to get a better understanding of how several options for resettling are being communicated. Up to this day, I constantly receive news and updates concerning settling and living in Tottori. The person in charge at Chizu’s municipal office also introduced me to their special facilities where people can stay for a ‘trial living in the countryside’, while being accommodated in houses and lodges which are administrated by both the town office and by the locals.

Tottori city’s big relocation agency as well as Chizu town’s municipal office show great effort in promoting their regions as places worth to live in. However, their focus lies predominantly on recruiting young couples who they consider as settlers most likely to contribute to the local communities. Keeping in mind depopulation, it makes sense for communities to prefer young families. Nevertheless, it is worth mentioning that in the course of my research so far, I have met several U- and I-turners who resettled as singles without getting married or giving birth to children, but who contribute to their communities nonetheless.

It remains to be exciting to observe the ongoing tendencies of promoting rural-life in Tottori and I am looking forward to share further insights with you soon.

Josko Kozic (MA) moved to Japan five years ago after graduating in Japanese & Southeast Asian Studies at Goethe University in his hometown Frankfurt. He currently resides in Yokohama while working on his PhD thesis about contemporary Shugendo (a Japanese religious tradition). He is affiliated with the faculty of Religious studies at Heidelberg University.

By Maritchu Durand

Today I would like to share my experience as a wwoofer in Hokkaido, an experience which gave me a unique glimpse into rural life and community in northern Japan. This ultimately sparked my interest for the “other Japan” I had not yet seen as a Tokyoite exchange student.

Wwoof (as in World-Wide Opportunities on Organic Farms) connects voluntary short-term workers (Woofers) with organic farm owners (hosts). The purpose is mutual exchange without any money involved. Browsing through the list of hosts, the Nara family immediately caught my eye. Describing their home as a house in the middle of the woods and warning potential woofers from the summer insects, they seemed to be just what I was looking for. I wrote to them and we arranged the period I would be staying with them the next day. I stayed with Natsumi, Takeshi and their three children in the Hokkaido forest and helped with various tasks around the house and worked with Takeshi as an unskilled gardener-apprentice. In exchange I got my own little hut to sleep, three delicious meals a day shared with the family and the opportunity to be adopted as a member of the family. I learned so many interesting things about their lifestyle, work and community.

Natsumi moved to Hokkaido as a volunteer for a year at the age of 27 – she never left. She told me that she was intrigued by the self-sustaining lifestyle. Heating your oven with the wood you chopped yourself, cooking with what you saw and grew felt more natural to her despite the hard work involved. She and Takeshi eventually build their own house, dug their own well, and now mostly rely on the vegetables they either produce or exchange with their neighbours. Natsumi mostly stays at home where she bakes an incredible variety of breads, cookies and cakes for her bakery business. Besides selling at the local market – consisting of a single broad hall in the village centre, managed by local volunteers – she also takes orders and sometimes travels to Sapporo to sell her produce.

Takeshi, on the other hand, drives around the region for a different job every day. During my stay we trimmed an old woman’s Japanese garden, cut the tree in front of a community centre, helped a neighbour with her fallen plum tree and carried materials around at an onsen-resort construction site.

I was amazed and overwhelmed by this life in the middle of the woods. It seemed to me that the family lived a peaceful, plentiful life within a strong and connected community. I participated in a friendly parent-student reunion at the second son Takara’s middle school. We made omuraisu and played volleyball together. At the town’s onsen, the local women made fun of me because I could not enter the hottest bath. I suffered hard defeat playing badminton against the 8-12 year olds Takeshi voluntarily taught after work at the local school, two of his students being his son Takara and A-chan, his young daughter.

But after a few days I also started to see the fragility of this seemingly untouchable community. Most of the town people seemed to be either working far away or had already retired; the school only had a total of 40 students. Ikkyu, the eldest, had to move three hours away and the family rented a room for him to go to high school, barely seeing his family. Takeshi jumped from day job to day job, and Natsumi said that some months were really difficult.

As a Wwoofer, I became part of the of the family and therefore enjoyed valuable insights into the life of Natsumi and her family as well as into community life from the inside. I felt like I somehow became one of them rather than looking at the locals from the outside. This gave me the unique opportunity to experience a fragment of life in rural Hokkaido. What I found there was indeed a fragile lifestyle. On the other hand the local community was very strong, closely connected and welcomed me warmly. People were ready to share their experiences with me, offered me jobs and invited me into their homes, shared stories about their travels abroad and about their everyday life. Had I not, on a whim, contacted the family that presented itself as living among many many insects in the deep Hokkaido woods, who knows if I would have embarked on this journey of research on rural Japan?