by Cornelia Reiher

In October, my dear friend and geographer Yoko Iijima invited me on a trip to Hokuto in Yamanashi Prefecture. She often takes her students there on geography field trips (junken). We met in the morning at Shinjuku Bus Terminal and then took the bus to Kōfu, the capital of Yamanashi Prefecture. In Kōfu, we rented a car to get to Hokuto. Hokuto is a place that is very popular with city dwellers looking to escape the urban environment. I was excited about this trip because I had previously read an article about urban-rural migration to Hokuto (Takahashi et al. 2021). After lunch featuring the local specialty hōtō, a noodle soup and popular regional dish from Yamanashi, we drove on to discover what makes Hokuto so appealing for city dwellers.

On our way to Hokuto, we first stopped in Kiyosato, a formerly popular resort town with many fairytale-like buildings, many of which now stand empty. If the weather had been better, we might have been able to see Mount Fuji from Kiyosato, but unfortunately it was cloudy that day. At the station, we discovered displays of characters from the manga and anime “mono,” which is set in various locations in Yamanashi Prefecture. Therefore, the Yamanashi Prefecture Tourism Association has incorporated the anime into its tourism promotion campaign and organized tourism events centered around the characters, such as hikes, stamp rallies, and merchandising items in collaboration with the anime series.

Hokuto is located on the border with Nagano Prefecture, and as the weather cleared up, we crossed the prefectural border to visit the famous lettuce fields on the Nobeyama Plateau. The average altitude of 1,000 m on the Nobeyama Plateau allows for favorable conditions to grow vegetables. It increases the temperature difference between day and night, and plenty of sunlight falls on the open ground. The lettuce and celery grown in this environment have the highest market share in Japan and are also highly praised for their quality. Local farmers maintain traditional farming methods on the plateau, growing vegetables and maintaining pastures in this high-altitude environment. In addition to vegetables, sheep are also raised on the Nobeyama Plateau.

After visiting Nobeyama Plateau, we headed to our accommodation for the night in Hokuto. Passing second homes where city dwellers had arrived to spend their weekend outside the city and had already lit their campfires and barbecues, we drove through Hokuto. The accommodation we stayed in was a lodge for residents of Tokyo’s Shinjuku ward. Many of Tokyo’s 23 wards own hotels, lodges, or cabins in the countryside, often referred to as “residents’ health villages,” which can be rented at low cost by residents of the ward or city (Hoy 2018). We stayed in a large 1980s hotel with a swimming pool, onsen, and other amenities on a spacious site in the mountains. Together with the predominantly elderly guests, we enjoyed the delicious yet inexpensive meals, the peace and quiet.

On the second day of our excursion, we visited a sake brewery and a winery in Hokuto. The sake brewery is located on the Koshu Kaido, one of the famous five routes connecting Edo with the outer provinces. The brewery has been producing one of Japan’s finest sakes for 300 years. The high quality of the sake is due in particular to the clear water of Mount Kaikoma, one of the highest mountains in the Southern Japanese Alps. As Yamanashi is Japan’s most traditional and well-known wine region, we also visited a winemaker, where we were able to tour the winery and taste the wine. Before returning to Kōfu Station to catch our bus back to Tokyo, we visited Senga-taki, a waterfall in the north of Kōfu. This impressive waterfall surrounded by high mountains was a fitting end to our trip.

In summary, Yamanashi Prefecture, and Hokuto-shi in particular, are interesting places with countless points of reference for comparative studies on urban-rural migration and rural revitalization initiatives in the areas of tourism and agriculture. The scenic beauty and proximity to Tokyo are just two of many reasons why Hokuto in particular is popular with urban-rural migrants and second home owners. The good water quality and favorable weather also play an important role. The above makes Hokuto especially attractive for urban migrants in their 30s and 40s who value the city as a favorable child-rearing environment. (Takahashi et al. 2021). Thank you, Yoko Iijima, for taking me there!

References

Selena Hoy (2018),“Countryside Lodges in Japan: Holidays Subsidized by Your Ward Office,” November 15th, 2018 | in Tokyo Cheapo,  https://tokyocheapo.com/travel/holidays/cheap-country-getaways-tokyo/

Takahashi, Yasuo, et al. (2021), “Diverse values of urban-to-rural migration: A case study of Hokuto City, Japan,” Journal of Rural Studies 87, 292-299.

by Kaeko Chiba

Step into a world where everyday rituals, local dialects, and the untold stories of rural Japan are preserved, celebrated, and brought to life. Welcome to the Tohoku Digital Archives, a groundbreaking project designed to safeguard the rapidly disappearing folk culture of northeastern Japan, beginning in Akita Prefecture: Tohoku digital archive homepage

Akita Prefecture, nestled in the scenic Tohoku region, faces a profound demographic challenge: it has the lowest birth rate and the highest aging population in all of Japan, with 38.5% of its total population over 65 years old. As young people migrate to metropolitan areas like Tokyo and Sendai, local folk culture—the festivals, crafts, language, and rituals that define daily life—is increasingly at risk of being forgotten. Younger residents often comment that their hometown has “nothing (nani-mo-nai),” feeling disconnected from their heritage. While many existing digital archives in Japan prioritize “high culture” (like Noh, Kabuki, or Ukiyo-e), less attention is paid to the informal expressive culture experienced in small groups—the folk culture that is the backbone of communities like Akita. Our project specifically addresses this gap, focusing on the everyday practices and beliefs of local community. The Tohoku Digital Archives is not just a repository of images; it is a participatory platform built on a philosophy of direct voices and collaborative creation.

The archive prioritizes the direct voices of local residents—the informants—over external interpretation. This is crucial in a region where different generations and groups often hold diverse, even conflicting, interpretations of their own traditions. One example is the the Kanto Festival. While some older participants adhere to the traditional belief that women should not touch the Kanto pole, fearing misfortune, younger voices are questioning the practice in the face of dwindling participation. By presenting these divergent accounts side-by-side, the archive promotes a more balanced power dynamic between researcher and research participants or between older and younger generations. The archive is also a means of empowerment. Including first-hand narratives, often accompanied by the informant’s name and picture (with consent), is a practice designed to foster a sense of identity and pride in their culture, mirroring the successful approach of institutions like the National Ainu Museum in Hokkaido.

The archive is actively created by undergraduate students from courses on gender and Japanese society. This participatory process encourages students to conduct interviews and analysis, fostering a sense of community contribution and helping them discover the value in their “forgotten” hometown. The long-term goal is to develop an educational model for elementary and high school students that uses the digital archives to improve English language acquisition and promote well-being by fostering local pride and identity. The Tohoku Digital Archives is an evolving project that seeks to move beyond traditional, static preservation. By embracing diverse voices and participatory methods, we aim to build a dynamic, inclusive system that not only preserves the cultural past of Tohoku but also shapes its future. Please visit our website and explore Tohoku Culture!

Kaeko Chiba is an Associate Professor of International Liberal Arts at Akita International University and an anthropologist specializing in Japanese culture, with a focus on class, gender, and traditional arts like the Tea Ceremony and Ikebana. Her research currently centers on the Tohoku Digital Archives to utilize participatory and methods for digitally preserving endangered folk culture and local identity in rural Japan.

by Liliana Morais

Since 2010, I have been researching creative migrants—artists and craftspeople whose mobility is often guided by the pursuit of meaningful work and life. My focus has been on studio potters, practitioners who carry out all stages of production themselves, from preparing clay to firing, thus contrasting with the division of labour typical of traditional craft industries. Their impact on their host communities has led me to explore the potential of such migrants for rural revitalization in Japan and beyond.

During my master’s, I researched the life stories of two Japanese women potters who moved to Brazil in the 1960s and 1970s, motivated both by dissatisfaction with the status quo of ceramics in Japan – where traditional craft fields have been male-dominated – and by a sense of adventure and curiosity about the “New World.” They were part of a larger postwar movement of Japanese artists and craftspeople to Brazil, and a case of what Benson and Riley (2009) call “lifestyle migration”, motivated by the pursuit of quality of life and self-realization, rather than economic or political reasons. Because these women worked with Japanese-style wood-firing – a process using traditional kilns that can last up to several days – they settled in rural areas of Brazil that offered easy access to clay and wood, and fewer concerns about smoke disturbing neighbours. Beyond making pottery, they engaged with Brazil’s long-standing Japanese community, taught ceramics to Brazilian youth, and founded institutions for the dissemination of craft culture (a field historically undervalued as “low-skilled labour” in Brazil). Their activities helped create communities of practice centred around Japanese styles and wood-firing, contributing to attracting tourists, ceramic practitioners, and new residents.

A parallel, albeit tiny, movement has developed in Japan since the 1960s, when Western representatives of counterculture and artists began to view non-urban areas and “the East” as sources of cultural knowledge and inspiration. As part of my doctoral thesis, I interviewed Europeans, Americans, and other non-Asians who had come to Japan to study or work with ceramics. Half of them eventually settled in rural areas of the country, often in regions with a long history of pottery. Aside from the influence that the state-promoted image of Japan as a “land of craftsmanship” had on these migrants (which illustrates the importance of traditional craftsmanship to Japan’s soft power to this day), I noticed that some of them were involved in grassroots initiatives aimed at designing a future for their communities. Leveraging local craft history, collaborative production, and transnational networks, these projects have attracted visitors, built relationships, and even encouraged migration to the Japanese countryside.

One such initiative is the Shiro Oni Artist-in-Residence (AIR), founded in 2013 by American artist Kjell Hahn in the former town of Onishi (now part of Fujioka City, in Gunma Prefecture). Hahn first came to Japan through the JET Programme in 2002, later returning to study ceramics and cycle around the country. During this time, he was introduced to Tokyo-born multimedia artist Chiaki Horikoshi, who had built a traditional anagama kiln in a mountain in Saitama, right on the border of OnishiDue to his playful and experimental approach to firing in a primitive Japanese kiln (the history of the anagama kiln dates back to 5th-century Japan, but its recent revival in Japan and beyond has strong ties to the counterculture of the 1960s), Horikoshi’s “kiln parties” became gathering places for artists, students, and people seeking an alternative lifestyle; some eventually moved to Onishi, as Kjell did. 

After Horikoshi’s death, Hahn took charge of the firings in the anagama, which has now been repurposed for the Shiro Oni AIR. Although the program accepts artists working in any media (priority is given to those who can work with the local community), there are two sessions specifically for firing ceramics in the anagama kiln, and demand has been growing every year. The process, which involves close attention to the rhythms of the fire and feeding it on the clock, takes a total of five days, making it a necessarily collective activity. Artists take shifts on the site, while locals come to help, chopping wood, preparing food, driving the artists up to the kiln site (located in a mountain forest otherwise only accessible by hiking), or simply providing company during the long nights and days.

Several Shiro Oni artists return for a second or even third residency, forming deep and lasting bonds with local residents that often continue well beyond their stay – and in a few cases, even lead them to relocate to the region. Through the Shiro Oni AIR and the Kanna Art Festival (established in 2014), Onishi has come to be known as an “art town”, drawing not only visitors from Tokyo and neighboring cities but also domestic in-migrants who contribute to the revitalization of the community by opening new businesses.  Together, they have fostered what Tanaka (2017) describes as a “relationship population” (kankei jinkō): individuals who sustain ongoing ties to a rural place through repeated visits, regular engagement, and continued support.

Shiro Oni is one of the case studies in my comparative research on the formation of cosmopolitan craft communities in Portugal, Brazil, and Japan. All cases revolve around Japanese-style wood-firing, a subculture defined by collective effort, experimentation, and a DIY ethos. Although the project is ongoing, the example of Onishi – and others like it – suggests a possible path for rural futures in Japan and beyond: the emergence of fluid, open communities that bring together people from diverse cultural backgrounds around shared acts of craft making that engage with the locality.

While such small-scale initiatives may not be able to halt depopulation (kasoka) or prevent the eventual disappearance (shōmetsu) of some rural settlements, they may transform how decline unfolds. Rather than being defined solely by loss, these projects can nurture new forms of conviviality that render rural degrowth – at least for a time – lively (nigiyaka) rather than desolate.

References:

Benson, M., & O’Reilly, K. (2009). Migration and the search for a better way of life: A critical exploration of lifestyle migration. The Sociological Review 57 (4), 608–625.

Mainichi Shinbun, “American Artist’s Studio Connects Foreigners to Traditional Crafts in Small Town Japan,” Mainichi Japan (July 2, 2021), accessed October 3, 2025, https://mainichi.jp/english/articles/20210701/p2a/00m/0na/023000c.

Morais, L. (2021) From Japan to Brazil: The Ceramics of Shoko Suzuki,” Garland Magazine, August 30, 2021, https://garlandmag.com/article/kogei-between-japan-and-brazil-the-ceramics-of-shoko-suzuki/. garlandmag.com

Morais, L. (2025). Craft as a Tool for Individual and Collective Empowerment: A Japanese Woman Ceramicist in a Rural Brazilian Town. In D. Wood (ed.) The Politics of Global Craft. Bloomsbury (forthcoming).

“Shiro Oni Artist in Residence,” Shiro Oni Studio, accessed October 3, 2025, https://shirooni.com.

Odagiri, T. (2024). Nigiyakana kaso o tsukuru: Nōson saisei no seisaku kōsō [Creating Vibrant Depopulation: Policy Concepts for Rural Regeneration]. ‎ Nōsan gyoson bunka kyōkai.

Tanaka T. (2017). Kankei jinkō wo tsukuru: teijū de mo kōryū de mo nai rōkaruinobēshon [Creating a related population: local innovation, not settlement or exchange]. Kirakusha.

Liliana Morais (Ph.D.) is a Specially Appointed Associate Professor in the Faculty of Sociology at Rikkyo University. Her research explores the intersections of craft, transnational migration, and, more recently, rural revitalization, with a focus on Japan from a transnational perspective, based on ethnography and oral history. Before Japan, she was based in Brazil, where curated the exhibition From Japan to Brazil: The Journey of Oriental Ceramics (2012) and published the book Cunha Ceramics: 40 Years of Noborigama Kiln in Brazil (2016, in Portuguese). More recently, she has published articles on the uses of craft for regional revitalization in Japan (“Spicing Up a 150-Year-Old Porcelain Factory: Art, Localism and Transnationalism in Arita’s Happy Lucky Kiln”, 2020), Portugal (“Entangled Ruralities: Remaking a Portuguese Mountain Hamlet Through Craft and Translocalism”, 2025) and Brazil (“Craft as a tool for individual and collective empowerment: a Japanese woman ceramicist in a rural Brazilian town”, forthcoming by Bloomsbury). She is a contributing writer for Garland Magazine and a board member of the Knowledge House for Craft.

by Cornelia Reiher

In September, I had the opportunity to visit the 2025 Osaka Expo, which took place from April 13 to October 13 under the theme “Designing Future Society for Our Lives.” While world exhibitions mainly showcase nations, Japan’s municipalities and prefectures also presented themselves at the Osaka Expo. I missed the “Local Japan Exhibition” in July, which featured 43 participating prefectures and municipalities from Tohoku to Okinawa, but there was still plenty to discover.

On the day I visited the Expo, it was incredibly crowded and hot. Unfortunately, I didn’t have reservations for the pavilions, so I walked around the wooden Grand Ring and admired each country’s pavilion from the outside. Designed by architect Fujimoto Sou, the Grand Ring was constructed using a mixture of modern building techniques and traditional nuki joints, which are also used in the construction of Japanese shrines and temples. Thus, the Grand Ring itself was a tribute to traditional Japanese woodworking and was quite impressive.

Fortunately, some of the pavilions could be accessed without reservations. Among them were pavilions displaying local crafts, as well as those representing various municipalities and prefectures. First, I visited the “Earth at Night” pavilion, which displayed a giant globe made of Wajima-nuri lacquerware from Ishikawa Prefecture alongside other traditional crafts from the region. The impressive globe has a diameter of 1 m. It is a “’symbol of reconstruction’ that miraculously remained undamaged in the Noto earthquake on January 1, 2024. It is imbued with the hope of ‘conveying to the world the importance of thinking about others beyond conflict and division’.” (Japanese Association for the 2025 World Exhibition 2025).

In the Kansai Pavilion at Osaka Expo, the nine prefectures of Shiga, Kyoto, Hyogo, Nara, Wakayama, Tottori, Tokushima, Fukui, and Mie had separate rooms and exhibited their diverse attractions of history, culture, sights under the theme, “The Brilliance of Kansai’s Rich History and Its Present Day”. The individual exhibits all showcased the scenery of the different prefectures, traditional crafts or local agricultural products. Shiga Prefecture brought its heritage to life through large video displays and virtual tours, featuring Shigaraki pottery, centuries-old weaving, sake brewing, and the famous fireworks over Lake Biwa. Mie highlighted its renowned Matsuzaka cotton, fine ink traditions, and local specialties such as beef, eel, and pickles. Wakayama offered a glimpse into its refined lacquerware, while Tokushima captivated with Otani ceramics and exquisite woven textiles. Together, these exhibits painted a vivid picture of Kansai as a region where history and craftsmanship are deeply interwoven with everyday life.

I also visited one of the buildings in the “Signs of Life” (Dialogue Theater) pavilion (inochi no akashi), which was produced by Kawase Naomi, the famous film director from Nara Prefecture. Two closed wooden school buildings from Nara and Kyoto Prefectures were brought to Osaka and converted into three pavilion buildings. The actual idea of the Dialogue Theater is to bring two strangers together to start a dialogue on various topics on stage. Although I was unable to attend the actual dialogues, one building was dedicated to presenting various places in Nara Prefecture. Traditional handicrafts such as porcelain, wooden sake cups, and kaya, a traditional mosquito net fabric, were on display. I learned that the history of kaya fabric in Nara dates back about 1,700 years and was brought to Japan by craftsmen from China. Kaya weaving continues today, with the fabric being used for everyday items such as multi-layered dish towels.

In the pavilion, representatives from various municipalities in Nara Prefecture distributed flyers and brochures about the sights and history of their respective municipalities. And just like at the Furusato Kaiki Fair I had visited in Tokyo a week earlier, there was information material for potential new residents. In addition to pictures of beautiful lakes and forests, arts and crafts, and local foods, these brochures contained information about financial and other support for potential urban-rural migrants. The pavilion was well attended, and visitors seemed to enjoy the pictures and objects on display and talking to the representatives of the various towns and cities from Nara Prefecture.

Overall, the display of Japanese craftsmanship and local diversity was a great opportunity for municipalities and prefectures in Japan to showcase themselves to visitors from around the world. It was also an occasion for the Japanese audience to learn about the hidden gems of their own country.

Reference:

Japanese Association for the 2025 World Exhibition (2025), “Wajima-nuri Large Globe “Earth at Night” to be Exhibited,” https://www.expo2025.or.jp/en/news/news-20250317-02/

by Meng Qu

In the Seto Inland Sea, Ogijima (literally meaning “Man Tree Island”)—a small peripheral island with a declining population of about 160 (compared to 280 in 2004)—is experiencing a remarkable transformation. While the Setouchi Triennale art festival has raised the island’s visibility and attracted external attention, it did not drive community-led revitalization by itself. The true catalyst has been the Fukui couple, U-turn migrants who relocated from Osaka to Ogijima in 2014 and dedicated a decade to initiatives that strengthened the island from within.

The Setouchi Triennale helped transform Ogijima into one of the region’s “Art Islands,” drawing visitors and attention from across Japan and abroad. Yet attributing the island’s revitalization outcome solely to the festival overlooks the essential role played by the Fukui couple and local residents. Their sustained commitment to community building, education, and sustainable living created the foundation that allowed Ogijima to fully leverage the opportunities brought by the Triennale.

Over the past decade, the island has attracted more than 60 new residents (around 1/3 of its population), many of whom are families with children. This wave of newcomers revitalized the population and ensured the ongoing operation of the island’s elementary and junior high schools. Neighboring Megijima (literally meaning “Woman Tree Island”) offers a stark contrast: despite similar size, population, and transportation connections, its population has declined to fewer than 100, with few families choosing to settle there. This divergence highlights the importance of community agency beyond external attention.

Japan faces a severe challenge of rural depopulation, particularly on remote islands. Many communities have seen hospitals, schools, and other infrastructure close due to declining populations. Ogijima’s school had shut down years ago. Reopening the school was an extraordinary challenge: it required convincing Takamatsu City—a municipality of over 400,000 residents—to allocate roughly 20 staff members, including ten teachers and ten administrative personnel, to keep a school with only six students running on an island of just over 100 residents. Ensuring the school’s long-term viability further depended on attracting families with children, a challenge faced by rural communities nationwide.

Accompanied by the ultimate decision to reopen the school, in 2016, the Fukui couple established the Ogijima Library in a renovated century-old house. The library serves multiple purposes: it is a space for reading, community gatherings, and cultural activities, and it provides after-school programs and learning opportunities for local elementary and junior high students. For visitors drawn by the art festival, it also offers a café and a welcoming space, fostering interactions between tourists and the island community and integrating tourism with everyday local life. In other words, it serves as the community’s hub, acts as a bridge for people from outside who are considering moving to the island, provides a space for residents and children to interact and learn, and also continuously maintains the island’s vacant houses.

The reopening of Ogijima’s school demonstrates the resilience of collaboration between residents and newcomers. The new generation of islanders—centered around the Fukui couple and other migrants—actively seeks families with school-age children from urban areas. Simply attracting entrepreneurs or tourism-focused migrants boosts labor but does not secure the school’s long-term sustainability. The Fukui couple’s vision extends beyond education. They aim to cultivate a sustainable community where culture, nature, and education coexist harmoniously. Their efforts have inspired others to invest in Ogijima’s future, ensuring the island remains vibrant for generations to come.

Ogijima offers valuable lessons for other rural communities. Its experience underscores the importance of grassroots initiatives, the transformative potential of U-turn migration, and the necessity of comprehensive strategies integrating education, culture, and community development alongside lifestyle and entrepreneurial initiatives. Importantly, Ogijima illustrates that rural revitalization cannot succeed without local agency and clearly defined community priorities—such as the rallying cry, “To ensure the island never falls below 100 residents” and “We need our school back!” No amount of external support can awaken a village unwilling to act, unless its own residents collaborate and invest effort. While studies and media often emphasize the role of migrants, this contribution can be overstated. What truly matters are the changemakers—residents who actively drive transformation. These may include I-/U-turn migrants, lifestyle migrants, entrepreneurs, or frequent visitors such as neighbors and student volunteers.

According to Mr. Fukui, he and the residents, together with neighboring island communities, are now considering including Megijima and Ōshima in their revitalization plans. If Megijima—without nearby neighbors—were to disappear, Ogijima would effectively become isolated. The historical and cultural value of the two islands, long referred to as the “Male and Female Islands” (Ogi and Meigi) cannot be preserved. We look forward to seeing the ongoing efforts and contributions of changemakers in revitalizing the archipelago as a whole. After relocating, many of these newcomers and changemakers are often unable to enjoy the so-called “lifestyle” benefits they had hoped for; on the contrary, they often find themselves even busier than they were in Osaka. We have also witnessed their socially beneficial initiatives beyond simply settling and sustaining life on the rural island. At the same time, a new question emerges: lifestyle migrants and entrepreneurs increasingly face stringent expectations regarding rural revitalization. Sustainable revitalization of these communities cannot rely solely on the voluntary dedication of individuals; broader social, cultural, and logistical considerations must also be addressed.

References and additional resources:

Ogijima Library (English link): https://ogijima-library.or.jp/en/english-information/

David Douglas Stuart (2023). David family’s rural island (Ogijima) migration experience in Japan by Australian multimedia journalist and educator – David Douglas Stuart (from ABC news) Island Note Curated Audiovisual Essays https://www.sicri.net/ruralislandmigration

Qu, M., He, Y., McCormick, A. D., & Funck, C. (2024). Diagnosing uneven revitalisation outcomes among aging communities in Japan’s Island art festival. In E. Papoutsaki & S. S. Niaah (Eds.), Island art and music festivals. University of the West Indies Press, 3-26.

Qu, M., & Zollet, S. (2023). Neo-endogenous revitalisation: Enhancing community resilience through art tourism and rural entrepreneurship. Journal of Rural Studies. 97. 105-114. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.jrurstud.2022.11.016

Qu, M., McCormick, A. D., & Funck, C. (2022). Community resourcefulness and partnerships in rural tourism, Journal of Sustainable Tourism 30 (10), 2371-2390. https://doi.org/10.1080/09669582.2020.1849233

Meng Qu, Ph.D., is an Associate Professor and Deputy Director at the Center for Advanced Tourism Studies, Hokkaido University. His research focuses on the revitalization of rural communities through international art festivals, emphasizing socially engaged art, regional festivals, creative tourism, relational aesthetics, creative in-migrants, sustainability, and rural regeneration. He integrates documentary filmmaking as a method for fieldwork and public engagement. Drawing on interdisciplinary approaches from creative and tourism geography and rural studies, he is currently leading a comparative project on community-embedded art and rural revitalization across the Asia-Pacific and the EU.

by Cornelia Reiher

I am back in Japan and had the chance to visit the Furusato Kaiki Fair at the Tokyo International Forum. Of the many fairs in Japan’s major cities, such as Tokyo, Osaka, and Fukuoka, where individual regions or prefectures present themselves, this is the largest fair where Japan’s municipalities and prefectures showcase themselves to encourage people to move there. The annual two-day event is organized by JOIN Furusato, an organization that promotes migration from cities to rural areas, as well as regional revitalization. In this post, I will share my impressions of the fair.

When I arrived a few minutes before the start of the fair, people were already lining up to be admitted. There were visitors of all ages and all kinds. Among them were older men who had come alone, young couples, and families with small children. Some had a hippie vibe, while others dressed more like office workers. Admission to the fair was free, but visitors were asked to register online in advance and download an app that could read QR codes. To enter, they had to scan the QR code at the entrance and at each stall they visited to count the number of visitors.

Even before entering the event, I passed several booths where municipalities displayed and sold local foods and handicrafts. Staff members wearing happi with their municipalities’ or prefectures’ names introduced local businesses and their products. I was introduced to sea salt from Chiba Prefecture, its taste and nutritional value depending on the phase of the moon when it is harvested. Other prefectures sold fruits, vegetables, and washi paper. On the same floor, organizations such as JForest and the Ministry of Internal Affairs and Communications introduced their programs, including Chiiki Okoshi Kyoryokutai (COKT) and Furusato Working Holiday.

After entering the main hall, where several hundred municipalities and prefectures presented themselves at individual booths, I tried to make my way to the booths of our field sites in Kyushu. However, the Kyushu booths were at the back of the hall, and I had a hard time getting there because representatives from various municipalities were constantly inviting me to their booths. The enthusiasm of the representatives from the municipalities made me feel like they really wanted me to move there. The advisors also explained that I was welcome as a foreigner. However, I could only receive financial support under certain conditions, they told me. I was also offered to participate in a match making program to find a husband at one prefecture’s stall which had designed this program to attract single migrants. At many booths, I received personalized advice about the advantages of the different places and the support services available to migrants. I also received gifts such as jam, tea, and nori. In addition to brochures and photos, some booths showed videos on tablet computers. At each stall, I was asked to follow the towns or organizations on Instagram.

When I finally arrived at the Kyushu booths, I realized that only one of our four field sites was represented. I met old acquaintances and new people who were representing their communities at the fair for the first time. Some local government officials were accompanied by COKT participants. Some communities offered tea, brochures, and karaage recommendations, while the Saga Prefecture team enthusiastically distributed resources, stories, and even a small prize. Each city presented different incentives, from financial support to guided tours. I was particularly touched by the warmth of the representatives from Ureshino and a sincere conversation with a migrant from Usa, who shared how moving with his family had changed their lives.

Overall, I was happy to experience the fair and see how well-attended it was. Although I was exhausted from visiting what felt like 1,000 stands, and my luggage is now several kilos heavier from all the flyers and brochures I collected, I enjoyed the diversity of locations represented. Local representatives’ genuine enthusiasm for their municipalities and prefectures will certainly encourage people to move to the countryside. However, it is difficult to find the right place among such a large selection. From the many urban-rural migrants I interviewed in Kyushu, I learned that the Furusato Kaiki Fair and similar events are important contact points for people who already feel the desire to relocate to rural Japan. Often, the next step is a visit to the municipalities that made an impression at the fair. Fortunately, these municipalities offer numerous opportunities, such as trial houses and guided tours to prospective migrants, which have already been reported on in other posts on this blog.

Our team will take a break over the holidays. The blog will be back on January 10. Thank you for following our blog and for supporting our activities. Happy holidays and a happy new year!

This year, we have a special Christmas treat for you. Cornelia Reiher has edited a volume about processes of change in rural Japan during the COVID-19 pandemic. It contains a selection of posts from this blog and is available free of charge via the CrossAsia Open Access Repository: https://repository.crossasia.org/receive/crossasia_mods_00000588  

Reiher, C. (Hg.), 2024. Lived experiences of crisis in rural Japan: An anthology on the transformation of communities and migration during the COVID-19 pandemic, Berlin: CrossAsia Open Access Repository, https://doi.org/10.48796/20241202-000

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 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.

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).

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.

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?

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.

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 75^th 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. 

by Cosmo H.

Every time I hear the name of the city where I lived during my student exchange in Japan, I feel a wave of nostalgia. It has been a while since I last set foot in Japan, but the memories are still very clear. When I discussed with my mother that I would indeed prefer not to spend a year in New Zealand to “find myself,” but rather embark on a unique adventure, I was unprepared for two things: That she would d’accord and that I would end up in Fujisawa SST, a state-of-the-art, sustainable town in the middle of Fujisawa City in Kanagawa County. From January to June 2016, Fujisawa SST turned into my home, and every day into a unique experience in its own right. Yet in spite of this, I do not believe I had ever been as lazy in my whole life: With its own internal grocery store, library, vidéothèque, health facilities etc., I could run errands without ever leaving town. Within the artificial, wireless, card-controlled walls of Fujisawa SST, everything I needed was within reach, creating a sense of convenience that was hard to match. I can still remember the first morning: “Jishin da. Jishin da.” [An earthquake, an earthquake.]. It was an unusual way to start the day, but as even the earthquake radar in my host family‘s state-of-the-art home with all its the latest technology was equipped with speakers a hearty amount of decibels louder than average, I felt truly safe… and blessed.

The arch leading into the town itself.
Copyright © Keisuke Ohara 2023.

The sense of community within the town was also undeniable. Even as my language and overall communicative skills left a lot to be desired, I could not help but strike up the occasional conversation. The town had always exuded a lively and “hip” atmosphere, and from what I could gather from images, that spirit hasn’t changed over the years. Quite the opposite: It has achieved remarkable milestones since. As of September 7, 2022, the number of visitors who have taken the official tour of Fujisawa SST exceeded 35,000, a testament to its growing popularity, which is likely to grow due to the rising demand for renewable energy within the country. The commitment to sustainability is evident in Fujisawa SST‘s highest S Rank certification for Urban Development. It makes sense: Despite my admittedly passive attitude at the time towards climate-related issues, the extensive use of renewable energy stood out to me also. Solar-generated electricity, with panels on top of every house, with the added promise of powering neighboring areas in the event of an outage – The commitment to sustainable practices is commendable.

Solar panel-furnished rooftops of Fujisawa SST, construction of elder care facility.
Copyright © Keisuke Ohara 2023.

The town’s emphasis on mobility through an internal car rental delivery service, battery stations for renting rechargeable batteries, and excellent Wi-Fi infrastructure continues to contribute to a high degree of mobility and convenience for residents. Moreover, the focus on community and the provision of care facilities for the elderly showcase Fujisawa SST‘s forward-thinking approach to urban planning: A new senior residence is set to open just next year. At the time, I remember a large portion of citizens in town being parents in their mid-30s with their children, but I would not be surprised if the latest strides towards increased inclusion of the elderly encouraged also that demographic to spend their twilight years in quaint Fujisawa by the sea. What also emphasizes the town’s commitment to creating an inclusive and supportive environment, is the more recent inclusion of an English version of the promotional pamphlet online. Promoting cultural exchange in my eyes will be an essential element in combatting shōshi kōreika moving forward, so this change is greatly appreciated. However, I believe I shall refrain from „meeting, incubating and initiating“ like the pamphlet suggests I do.

At an intersection near my host parents‘ house.
Copyright © Keisuke Ohara 2023.

An additional aspect I found peculiar browsing through the updated website was the concept of “Life Record” housing records, which document house maintenance. The supposed „collection of real-life conditions“ during sleep to improve residents’ sleep cycles also echoed a somewhat Orwellian undertone. It is crucial to reflect on the ethical implications of such measures, even within the context of a technologically advanced town like Fujisawa SST, which to my knowledge, has also not been sufficiently branched out beyond the walls of Fujisawa SST itself. After seven years, I do have to admit I was hoping for more progress on a grander scale.  However, it goes without saying that the Fujisawa SST remains a remarkable achievement in forward-looking, sustainable technology that I hope will be adopted in other regions of the country in the near future.

References 
Fujisawa SST Kyōgikai (2022), „Kōshiki Kengaku Tsuaa no Kengakusha ga 35,000 Nin wo toppa!“ https://fujisawasst.com/JP/news/806/ Accessed 04.06.2023.
Fujisawa SST Council (2023), „Introducing Fujisawa Sustainable Smart Town“ https://fujisawasst.com/EN/wp_en/wp-content/themes/fujisawa_sst/pdf/FSST-ConceptBook.pdf Accessed 04.06.2023.

Cosmo H. is a student in the BA program in Japanese Studies at Freie Universität Berlin.