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.

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!”

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.