by Cornelia Reiher

Two days after my arrival in Japan this September, Kyushu was hit by an “exceptionally strong typhoon”. This reminded me that the Covid pandemic was not the only reason that forced people to change their travel plans or daily lives. Typhoon No. 14 hit Kyushu on September 18, shortly after I arrived in Fukuoka, where I had planned to meet with our colleagues at Kyushu University before starting fieldwork in Arita and Taketa. Although I was safely ensconced in a high-rise concrete hotel, I was surprised to find that most stores, supermarkets, and even konbini in Fukuoka were closed. When I went to a supermarket that was still open, the shelves were quite empty, and I was lucky to buy the last obento.

On television, news of store and train closures were updated every minute, and signs in the windows of Hakata Station informed customers of temporary store closures due to the typhoon.
Copyright © Cornelia Reiher 2022

Train, plane, subway and bus services in Fukuoka were also suspended, and people stranded at Hakata Station waited in long lines for information. Media coverage was quite alarming, and my emergency app recommended evacuating to a nearby gym, but hotel staff said the hotel was much safer. All people in Fukuoka were advised to stay indoors. While watching on TV as the typhoon hit the coast of Kagoshima with fierce winds, high waves, and a storm surge, I waited anxiously in my hotel room for the typhoon to hit Fukuoka. Finally, the typhoon had lost some speed as it passed Fukuoka early in the morning of September 19 while I was still asleep.

Homeowners put tape on their windows as a precaution against typhoons to prevent them from breaking.
Copyright © Cornelia Reiher 2022

The next morning, television showed images of heavy storms, flooded streets and fallen trees. A report from Yufuin showed that the roads were underwater. Many highways and businesses were still closed and train service was suspended. At breakfast, I overheard a waitress telling a guest that the entire hotel staff was sleeping in the hotel during the typhoon. I texted my friends in Oita and Saga and asked them if they were okay. Some had actually spent the night with their families in a shelter, but fortunately, no one had been injured. According to NHK, the total number of injured people in Fukuoka and Saga prefectures was very low, eleven and three, respectively. However, my friends and research participants were affected in different ways. Events they had been preparing for several months had to be canceled. One friend was stuck in Kokura for two days waiting for a connecting train. Others reported that the typhoon had broken windows or blown the roof off their homes. In particular, those living in renovated former akiya reported damage. Many experienced the typhoon as frightening and said this typhoon was much worse than previous ones, but others complained about the media spreading panic. Guesthouse operators told me that people were seeking refuge in the guesthouse.

In many places in Kyushu, the strong wind had knocked over the rice plants.
Copyright © Cornelia Reiher 2022

When I visited Saga and Oita after the typhoon, I could see some damage myself: In the rice fields, the typhoon had knocked over the rice plants just before the harvest. Therefore, the rice could only be harvested by hand. This cost the farmers more time and resources. In Oita, a large tree next to a local shrine was struck by lightning during the typhoon and large branches had fallen. Two weeks after the typhoon, local people were still busy cleaning up the damage. At the same time, they were also going about their usual activities, preparing for the annual Kagura performance at the shrine, which was being held for the first time in two years because of the Covid pandemic. This made me realize how resilient rural residents are to natural disasters. Instead of complaining, they cleaned up the damage and went on with their lives. Many even emphasized how lucky they were this time because, for example, the nearby river did not burst its banks. But natural disasters are always on their minds, which is reflected in damage prevention measures and visible in the rural landscape. For example, homeowners put tape on their windows to protect them from typhoons, but it is very difficult to remove. Therefore, it stays on for a while after the typhoon, and in some cases, it is not removed at all. Some people think of countermeasures when building or renovating a house and use the heavier roof tiles (kawarayane), for example, because the roof is more likely to hold up in a typhoon.

Branches of a tree struck by lightning during the typhoon.
Copyright © Cornelia Reiher 2022

In summary, this experience puts the pandemic in perspective as one of many risks and disasters that the rural population of Japan faces in their daily lives. I realized that I had focused too much on the Covid pandemic because I was unable to travel to Japan due to the pandemic. However, the spatial and temporal dimensions of these different disasters as well as the different social, economic, political and cultural impacts are perceived and handled very differently by people in the countryside. It is interesting to study how rural residents deal with these different risks and disasters and manage them in everyday life.

by Maritchu Durand

There have been some changes since my last blog post. Unfortunately, my work on the project has come to an end. But this has given me the opportunity to finally dive into my master’s thesis more deeply. Focusing on the renovation of akiya in rural Japan and their role in rural revitalization, I am now approaching my research subject on two fronts. First, I am reading about the numerous case studies that have been conducted in the last few years, as well as important works on urban-rural migration. Second, I am entering the wild world of YouTube in order to find concrete cases of migrants’ representation and narratives of their experiences with DIY renovation. Since I previously have looked at videos published by a prefecture, now I want to find more personal testimonies, filmed, edited and posted by individuals. In this post, I will present my first observations from a whole new YouTube world.

A residential house from the early Shōwa period during the renovation process in Arita, Saga prefecture.
Copyright © Cornelia Reiher 2022

First of all, I was quite surprised to find out that there were so many channels about DIY renovation of old houses. Interestingly, most channels combine the words inaka gurashi – life in the countryside – with anything ranging from ‘DIY renovation’ to ‘akiya’ or ‘kominka’. Although the number of subscribers to those channels ranges from only 3000 to sometimes 500 000, all of them feature highly popular videos that have up to two million views. The most popular videos are those showing houses before and after renovation or the often year-long renovation process in 10 to 20 minutes. The different channels can be divided into two groups: the ‘silent ones’ and the ‘talkative ones’. In the talkative videos, the – often quite young – house owners play a prominent role in explaining their renovation process and showing themselves during renovation work, gardening or exploring the region. They are the main actors and viewers follow them along their journey through renovation. These videos can be quite explanatory and technical, but often also present features of conventional TV programs in Japan: comical sound effects, bright and colored subtitles and comments by an out-of-frame narrator. See for example:

However, there are more videos of the ‘silent type’ where migrants rarely show their faces and do not talk. Explanations are provided via subtitles. Light and upbeat music or slow and melancholic instrumentals accompany footage of renovation work, the houses and the natural and quiet surroundings featuring insects and diverse flowers, cold mountain streams and organic vegetables in gardens behind the house. See for example:

While each channel has its own characteristics, all of them share common features and representations that are particularly interesting to observe just after reading Susanne Klien’s work on urban-rural migrants in post-growth Japan[1]. Like Klien’s many interviewees, the house owners in the videos are young urbanites who recently decided to change their lives and move to the countryside. They are lifestyle migrants who chose to leave the city and their jobs to live closer to nature in a rural environment. The videos present two main aspects of urban-rural migrants’ life in the countryside Klien has identified: while showing satisfaction and joy in their life surrounded by nature, cultivating their garden, discovering wildlife and slowing down in their everyday life, urban-rural migrants also face difficulties in their new lives. When migrants talk about difficulties and failures, it is often presented as a great opportunity to learn in the videos. Still, it cannot be ignored that their renovation enterprise takes up most of their time, energy, and money as renovating a house requires time, skills and resources. But there are also differences between the migrants in the renovation videos and those in Klien’s work. While situated in a liminal state between movement and settlement, the latter enjoyed a certain freedom of movement and did not hesitate to change locations when they wanted to. In contrast, the young migrants who bought a house and are now renovating it put all their efforts and resources into this enterprise and seem much more tied to a particular place. They cannot move away on a whim or break off in the blink of an eye.

This former public bath in Taketa, Oita prefecture was renovated and is now used as a restaurant and gallery.
Copyright © Cornelia Reiher 2022

This situation might seem like a trap for young migrants that engage in akiya renovation projects that might as well fail. However, from a more positive perspective, the migrants choose to invest in the land, the house and the place to create a future home. The renovation process also gives them the opportunity to meet many local people who help them. Finally, such renovation projects by urban-rural migrants could contribute to more sustainable migration and rural development in the long run.

[1] Klien, Susanne (2020), Urban migrants in rural Japan: Between agency and anomie in a post-growth society, Albany, NY: State University of New York Press.

by Ngo Tu Thanh (Frank Tu)

October 3^rd, 2022: I’ve just returned to Tokyo before flying back to Berlin this Sunday. This is almost the end of my fieldwork in Japan! After six months, five cities, and countless memories, I know now that fieldwork can generate not only data for research but also new friendships, life experiences, inspiration and even career opportunities. As my flight back to Berlin is approaching, I can’t help but feel somewhat melancholy. “So that’s it?”, I think to myself. As a young researcher, I struggle to deal with my attachment to the field, and I also wonder if my personal bonds with several respondents may affect the objectivity of my analysis.

My fieldwork has come to an end. It was an amazing experience
Copyright © Ngo Tu Thanh 2022

I keep thinking back to May when I conducted my first interviews with national policy actors in Tokyo. How nervous I was back then! After these initial meetings, I came to realize that many policy actors, including even politicians and high-ranking government officials, were highly supportive and there was no reason why I had to be afraid to discuss with them. In fact, some research participants, despite their extremely hectic schedules, were kind enough to keep following up on my research progress and meet me multiple times until my very last days here. These respondents have become my friends and mentors, and we even promised to meet again in Germany next year.

I also had great experiences in Kyūshū. I was especially impressed with Fukuoka Prefecture, and more specially Buzen City – a small yet spirited municipality that has been making great rural revitalization efforts through international cooperation and digital transformation. My respondents from Fukuoka Prefecture and Buzen gave me the feeling that Fukuoka is a place of new ideas, challenges, and vitality. My respondents here are also extremely proactive and modern. Since all of them added me on social media and preferred texting to sending emails, I could contact them right away whenever a question arose. Sometimes, after our meetings, they even texted their new ideas and opinion about rural revitalization without me asking.

One of my research participants is a charismatic leader, academic, businessman
and a native of Yame City, where I attended high school
Copyright © Ngo Tu Thanh 2022

Compared to Fukuoka, Nagasaki seems to have a slower pace, or in other words, is more “rural”. Yet, I was able to experience the charming, relaxing life in Nagasaki. I stayed at an Airbnb in Nagasaki, and my host – a Nagasaki native – is very knowledgeable about rural revitalization and interested in the project that our research team is conducting. He also used to work in a local politician’s office. In order to help me grasp the local context, my host guided me to many historical places in Nagasaki, invited me to join local events, introduced me to other local residents, and even drove me to Hasami Town – my other main field site. He is also familiar with several of my respondents and prepped me before my interviews. For instance, he told me about the backgrounds and policy orientations of several local politicians. While in Nagasaki, not only did I get to hear the voices of policy actors, but also those of local residents. Many of them were highly critical of how the prefecture handles rural revitalization. More importantly, the people I met in Nagasaki became a part of my everyday life. We formed a close-knit community and had dinner together every other day as we lived very close to each other. One of my new friends also came to Tokyo to see me off on Sunday.

An evening picnic with my Airbnb host and new friends from Nagasaki
Copyright © Ngo Tu Thanh 2022

This is not my first time in Japan or living abroad. After having lived in six countries, I thought I was used to saying goodbye. Yet, it is still quite emotional to know “that was it”. However, I’m sure that the end of the fieldwork is not the end of these new “friendships” (if I may use this word at all… as many respondents are older and way more accomplished than I am). In the upcoming months, I will do my best to make the most out of the valuable information my respondents shared with me and finish my PhD dissertation. I cannot wait to visit Japan again as soon as possible.

by Cornelia Reiher

In September, I was able to travel to Japan for the first time after three and a half years. Since visa-free travel was not possible until October 11, I had to undergo a time-consuming visa application process. Thanks to our colleagues at Kyushu University, I was able to affiliate as a visiting scholar and was very happy when the visa was finally stamped in my passport. Fortunately, just before I left for Japan, the PCR tests for those who had been vaccinated three times were no longer required for entry. At the same time, not only the entry ban but also the war in Ukraine has made it difficult to travel to Japan. Since it is no longer possible to fly over Russia, air routes have become much longer and air ticket prices have risen sharply. Against all odds, I put on my mask, boarded a plane and entered Japan in mid-September, where I was the only foreigner in the immigration queue. I had never seen the international terminal of Haneda Airport so empty.

Alone at the immigration line at Haneda airport
Copyright © Cornelia Reiher 2022

The number of Covid-19 infections in Japan has increased since July 2022, even in rural areas. Therefore, hygiene measures were taken very seriously and everyone wore a mask indoors and outdoors. Even in my field sites, many people had already been infected with Covid. Many interlocutors told me openly that they or their children had Corona, but apparently, the subject was taboo, especially at the beginning of the pandemic. Foreigners in particular were shunned. One interviewee told me that people even changed sides of the street when they saw her, and she felt discriminated against for the first time in Japan, even though she had lived there for a long time.

Since one of the principles of good research practice is to do no harm to research participants, I followed all the formal and informal rules as much as possible. Since everyone always wore a mask, I did too. I also carried a suitcase full of Covid-19 test kits and performed tests regularly. Fortunately, I did not experience any discrimination or rejection from my research participants, but found Covid to be a good conversation starter, as everyone I met was interested in the Covid situation and rules in Germany and Europe. Many Japanese found it hard to believe that people in most European countries no longer wear masks.

Even cows wear masks during the pandemic. I found this plastic one at a michi no eki in Aso.
Copyright © Cornelia Reiher 2022

After conducting online interviews during the past year, I had come to Japan to conduct on-site interviews and attend events to see more than just people’s faces. But also during my stay in Japan, I had to interview some people remotely because they or their family members were infected with Covid-19. And this time I hardly saw anyone’s face because the interviewees had their masks on during almost all the interviews, some even in their own houses. Only when I took photos of my research participants did they briefly remove their masks. In the town halls of my two field sites, as well as in many other public institutions, a scanner at the entrance monitored the body temperature of visitors and staff. Although wearing masks is currently required in Germany only on public transportation, disinfecting hands and wearing masks even at 32°C became second nature to me (again). Like everyone else in Japan, I spent entire days without taking off my mask.

Interview with masks and partition walls in a municipal hall in Kyushu
Copyright © Takako Horita 2022

But how can a researcher relate to people if she only sees them with a mask? I found it very unfortunate that I could not see the facial expressions of many of my research participants during the interviews because they are just as important as their verbal expressions. On the other hand, I had met many of my research participants before – either online without masks or during previous fieldwork in Japan. Without these previous encounters, however, it would have been somewhat difficult for me to get to know them. Sometimes I wondered if this type of field research was really better than the online interviews I had already conducted. However, I would say that it was important to be on-site to observe the environment in which my research participants live and the social interactions in their daily lives. During the online interviews, I only saw their faces and often a virtual background. Some participants gave me a tour of their homes or neighborhood online, but I could only see what they wanted me to see. For this reason, it was important to (re)visit my field sites in person. In doing so, I not only noticed how much the places have changed since previous visits, but I also happened to come across many interesting things by coincidence. In summary, during my fieldwork in Japan, I experienced firsthand how the pandemic changed not only fieldwork for researchers outside of Japan who could not enter the country and had to find alternative ways to do fieldwork, but also fieldwork in Japan itself.

From left to right: Monitoring body temperature at the entrance of public facilities; signs that ask customers to wear masks and to keep distance at a supermarket; and the check-in equipment at a guesthouse (tissues, disinfection spray, masks and a fever thermometer).
Copyright © Cornelia Reiher 2022