by Ian Harano Grey

Breaths of thick damp air entered my lungs as I frantically dragged my suitcase through the Narita Airport. This is how I knew I was back in Japan. I tried to follow a group of other random terrified “English teaching assistants” who came to Japan with the JET Program as we were all ushered like cattle into big buses that would take us to Shinjuku. The last time I was in Tokyo, I completely fell in love with the massive electric titan that it is, but was unfortunately ripped away due to the COVID-19 pandemic. But this time I was only there for a short (and strict) 72 hours before being shipped off to a city named Kumamoto in the middle of the Island of Kyushu. The only thing I managed to learn about the area before being sent there was that their mascot “Kumamon” is beloved and that the regional delicacy was horse meat (much to the dismay of my horse loving grandmother).

When I got off the plane, I entered the small box that they are calling the airport. I was dragged by a small group of foreign people in shorts and two Japanese officials in formal business wear that were all shaking signs at me. They hurriedly got my LINE account while taking a forced group photo. After this was all acquired, they quickly scuttled off to their respective airconditioned cars and I was placed with my “helper” who was supposed to help me settle in my new apartment. Walking to her car, the true horror of the Kumamoto heat began to dawn on me. I wore a suit out of peer pressure from other anxious newcomers even though the regional advisor told me explicitly to wear clothing that was “good for hot weather”. As I dripped buckets into the car of my helper, she still treated me with efficiency and kindness. While trying to pretend I was fine between suppressing the gasps of air and wiping off my forehead sweat, she finally says “It is hot here, isn’t it? That’s why we call it hi no kuni. The Land of fire!”  We both laughed, but I looked out of the window onto the piercing neon green rice fields, volcanos, and mountains that made the bowl of soup that is Kumamoto. I couldn’t help but think “What the hell am I doing here?”

As I settled into the job, the magic of living in Japan wore off, and I entered the complaining phase. Kumamoto is not only extremely hot in the summer, but bone chillingly cold in the winters. Most of my coworkers were difficult to communicate with while working insane amounts of overtime. I had no idea how to teach hundreds of kids on my own, and I had to push down my queer identity to fit in with the strong binary gendered expectations of Japanese society. Anytime there was talk of needing to go to a bigger city to get something done or the transit was messed up, the teachers all laughed and said: “Jā, inaka desu ne”, meaning: “Well that’s the countryside right?” When discussing the frustrations I had with this confusing city, my coworker stated “Kumamoto is trying its absolute hardest to be cool.” This would end up being the key that opened everything for me. If Kumamoto was trying, I needed to try, too.

With time, Kumamoto bloomed before my eyes. In the countryside, you make your own fun and find your own community. We had crazy parties at the local foreigner bar. I began to look forward to seeing the legion of old women who ran my closest konbini, always asking if I am dating and or observing my weight gain/ loss. The best weekends were bike rides along the rice fields and drinking cheap 7-Eleven wine in the park. I found myself saying “Count me in!” to take pottery lessons in a stranger’s backyard. Instead of being intimidated by horse meat, everyone eventually fought over the last piece at a group

dinner. I joined university students practicing their acapella singing routine at night by the river. The burst of glee I let out when the shy student in my class got 2nd in the relay at the sports festival shocked me. A sweet elderly woman I met at a conference insisted on making me a buffet in exchange for helping her grandson practice his English for High School Exams. So many simple but special moments invited me into this lovely community in a random city across the world. Often in big metropolises it can be incredibly isolating and discouragingly lonely because you don’t have a community. However, in Kumamoto, I enjoyed a community that transcended age, background, and nationality. I learned to open my soul and accept something that transcended my expectations. The heat no longer suffocated me, instead, it was a reminder of life around me.

Ian Harano Grey is a master’s student currently enrolled at Freie Universitaet. They are a Japanese-American from Reno, Nevada who did their undergraduate studies at the University of Nevada, Reno with a focus on History in China and Japan. They had worked in Kumamoto as an “Assistant Language Teacher” (ALT) through the JET program before shifting perspectives to Global East Asian Studies in Berlin.

by Cornelia Reiher

When newcomers move to the countryside, they need a place to live. Although there are many abandoned properties in rural Japan, they often struggle to find land and houses to buy or rent (Lollini 2024). This may come as a surprise, as even international media outlets have picked up on the results of the Japanese Ministry of Internal Affairs and Communication’s 2023 Housing and Land Survey, which found that 9 million or 13.8% of all houses in Japan were vacant (Lau and Maruyama 2024; Sōmushō 2024). The problem of house abandonment has attracted increasing media attention in recent years and is not only a problem of rural areas, but also affects many cities. However, the proportion of the nine million houses that are vacant in Japan is high in rural areas and highest in Wakayama, Tokushima and Yamanashi prefectures (Jiji 2024).

But why is it so difficult for newcomers to find a new home when rural Japan is full of abandoned houses? In many cases, the homes of elderly people who live alone are left empty when they die or move into nursing facilities (Jiji 2024). Since the economic value of old or “second-hand” houses is low, heirs often do not want to take over inherited houses. They are not required to register inherited property titles in their own names, so the owners of abandoned houses are often unknown (Nozawa 2022), or the property is divided among a growing number of people, making it difficult for local authorities to track them all down to do something with the property and collect property taxes (Lollini 2024). But even if the owners are known, they may decide to simply leave the house empty for economic reasons. The cost of demolition, for instance, is high and a lot without a house is subject to much higher property taxes. Thus, owners would rather leave the house vacant than demolish it (Platz 2024). There are also private and cultural reasons for holding on to vacant properties. Some owners use the houses for storage, as a second home, or for sentimental reasons. Furthermore, since the house is also a place of ancestor worship in Japan, the owners have a duty to take care of it.

Despite these difficulties, newcomers to rural Japan do find places to live. The Act on Special Measures Concerning Vacant Houses promotes reuse of abandoned houses, and encouraged local governments to create databases of vacant houses (akiya bank). Through these databases, local governments provide information on available housing. The national government is also obligated to financially support the administrative efforts of local governments on issues covered by this law (Umeda 2014). As a result, most Japanese municipalities have established their own akiya bank. In some cases, akiya banks provide information not only about available housing, but also about local history, culture, and customs. Local governments often cooperate with real estate companies or NPOs, and hire staff through chiiki okoshi kyōryokutai (COKT; English: Community building support staff program) to run akiya banks (Hatayama 2016). In addition, local governments across Japan have developed a variety of programs to support housing for urban-rural migrants. Some offer subsidies to convert akiya into guesthouses or to help people rent apartments by reducing the rent or paying their moving expenses, while others offer to reduce property taxes or pay a percentage of the interest on loans (Reiher 2020).

Despite these efforts, urban-rural migrants often find housing through word of mouth rather than through akiya banks (Pollacco 2023; Lollini 2024). Therefore, local authorities and other actors involved in supporting urban-rural migrants recommend that they visit places they are interested in and build relationships of trust before moving. Migrants with previous connections to the place through kinship or stays there for work or vacation purposes might have an advantage when looking for housing. However, many organizations also try to act as intermediaries to match migrants with no previous ties to their municipalities with the local community and housing.

References:

Hatayama, N. 2016. “Ijūsha o chiiki to tsunagu no wa dare ka? Chichibu akiya banku ni okeru minkan kigyō to jichitai no renkei.” Nihon toshi shakaigaku nenpō 49: 137–145.

Jiji. 2024. “Number of vacant homes in Japan hits record high of 9 million.” The Japan Times, May 1, 2024. https://www.japantimes.co.jp/news/2024/05/01/japan/japan-vacant-homes-record-high/.

Lau, C., and M. Maruyama. 2024. “Super-aged Japan now has 9 million vacant homes. And that’s a problem.” CNN, May 7, 2024. https://edition.cnn.com/2024/05/07/asia/akiya-homes-problem-japan-intl-hnk/index.html

Lollini, N. 2024. “The right to abandon and the duty to maintain: Addressing the akiya mondai in regional Japan.” Electronic Journal of Contemporary Japanese Studies 24 (2): http://www.japanesestudies.org.uk/ejcjs/vol24/iss2/lollini.html.

Nozawa, C. 2022. “Land and homes and the Japanese: The issue of vacant houses and land with unknown owners today: What progress with preparations for closing houses?” Japan Foreign Policy Forum. https://www.japanpolicyforum.jp/society/pt2022012616580811841.html.

Platz, A. 2024. “From social issue to art site and beyond: Reassessing rural akiya kominkan.” Contemporary Japan 36 (1): 41–56.

Pollacco, L. 2023. “Renting akiya: A backdoor into Japan’s abandoned homes.” The Japan Times, November 18, 2023. https://www.japantimes.co.jp/life/2023/11/18/lifestyle/akiya-renting-kochi/?utm_medium=email&utm_source=pianoex&utm_campaign=64922372.

Reiher, C., 2020. “Embracing the periphery: Urbanites’ motivations to relocate to rural Japan.” In Japan’s New ruralities: Coping with decline in the periphery, edited by W. Manzenreiter, R. Lützeler, and S. Polak-Rottmann, 230–244. London: Routledge.

Sōmushō. 2024. “Reiwa 5 nen jūtaku, tochi tōkei chōsa jūtakusū gaisū shūkei (sokuhō shūkei) kekka.” https://www.stat.go.jp/data/jyutaku/2023/pdf/g_kekka.pdf

Umeda, S. 2014. “Japan: New law and tax measure to promote demolition and reuse of abandoned houses.” Global Legal Monitor.  https://www.loc.gov/item/global-legal-monitor/2014-12-05/japan-new-law-and-tax-measure-to-promote-demolition-and-reuse-of-abandoned-houses/